


Player Development

by Farasha



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Age Difference, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Extremely Dubious Consent, Grooming, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Manipulation, Power Imbalance, Sexual Coercion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:33:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 50,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24288199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Farasha/pseuds/Farasha
Summary: The Las Vegas Aces select, with the first overall pick in the 2009 entry draft, from the Drummondville Voltigeurs of the Quebec Major Junior Hockey League, Kent Parson.The Las Vegas Aces also have a history of chewing up pretty, agreeable rookies and spitting them out, but Frank Holloway, captain of the Aces and on the downswing of his career, knows that Kent is his best shot at a Cup. So he's got to take control of this game, make sure his team of degenerates keeps their hands off Parson until he's got the kid trained up right.
Relationships: Kent "Parse" Parson/Las Vegas Aces Ensemble (Check Please!), Kent "Parse" Parson/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 64
Kudos: 82





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic, which is a lot longer than I initially anticipated and is being updated _very slowly_ , was inspired by the kinkmeme prompt: "The Aces slowly condition their new, pretty rookie into taking it from the team. The captain in particular is good at playing the long game, especially because he really wants a Cup before he retires." It's exactly what it says on the tin - a slow slide from frog-boiling dubcon into public use noncon, and it does a number on Kent. It's filth all the way down!

Kent Parson looks like he just stepped off the cover of some teen magazine, even when he's disheveled from a flight and hauling suitcases behind him. Frank had thought the camera flattered him during the draft, but it turns out he's just like that. At nineteen, he still has some filling out to do. He's lean and wiry, a little gangly in his limbs, blond hair poking out at odd angles from under his snapback. He has it turned backward, which means there's no shadow to play with the color of his eyes. They look green as he crosses the baggage claim to where Frank is waiting, but as the sun from the airport windows hits them, they lighten up to a weird grey.

"Hi," he says, a little awkwardly, when he finally gets within speaking distance. Frank offers his hand, waiting patiently while Kent juggles his bags so he can take it. Kent has a firm handshake, not like he's trying to prove something but not like a pushover, either.

"Franklin Holloway," he says, even though he knows Kent knows his name. If Kent is anything like he was after he got drafted, he's been reading all the information on the Aces he can get his hands on, from the top of the roster on down. "Call me Holly, though."

"Yeah," Kent says, grinning like he didn't expect to be given nickname privileges right away. "I'm Kent. I mean, I guess you know who I am."

He doesn't say it with any arrogance. It's almost sheepish, the way he admits that his name has been plastered across every sports publication for months. Like he wasn't wide-eyed and pale and shaking like a leaf so bad the whole country could see it when he pulled on that Aces sweater at the draft.

That's what had caught the team's attention, when they were all sitting around drinking, watching the draft and wondering if management would do what everyone thought and pick Parson, or whether they'd do something breathtakingly stupid like pass him up. Frank remembers sprawling on the couch, his knee knocking against Sergei's, Danno leaning back against the couch on his other side.

It took a minute for someone to say what they were all thinking, as Parson finally forced a tremulous smile like he'd remembered he was on camera.

Blazer had let out a low whistle from his perch on one of Frank's barstools. "Now that's what I call a rookie that shows promise."

"Good look for him," Sergei agreed, shifting on the couch and shamelessly adjusting himself.

"Stats say the kid is 5'10" and barely," Danno says. "You could put him against a wall and not break a sweat, Serg."

"Nobody is touching the rookie," Frank had said quickly.

"But Frankie—"

"Don't you 'but Frankie' me, you degenerate fucks. This isn't some twinky kid we called up from Reno, this is a number one draft pick. He's the future of the goddamn team and if you fuckers break him they're not going to give us another one." Frank remembers sipping his beer and knowing real fucking intimately that none of them were going to listen to him. If he didn't do something he gave it a week before Sergei cornered their pretty, scared-looking rookie in the showers.

"You could do it," Blazer had said. "You're good with the skittish ones, get 'em settled down right."

It was the best Frank was going to get. He'd never kept someone to himself before, but he had found himself wanting to with Kent. Using the excuse of getting him acclimated for the rest of the guys would give him a lot of undivided time.

"This kid is our best shot at winning a Cup before I fucking retire, so if I say I'll take point on the kid then the rest of you have to fuck off. Keep your hands to yourselves until you have the green light or I'll take them off, clear?"

"Crystal clear, cap," Danno had said. "We'll make him feel right at home."

Now, with Parson standing there in person, a nervous, eager look on his face as Frank drops his hand and beckons him to follow, Frank honestly wonders if his own discipline is up to the task. He hadn't expected Parson's lips to be so pink and full in person. He'd figured it was camera makeup. Now he has to concentrate really hard on remembering where he parked so he stops imagining those pink lips wrapped around his dick while Parson's pretty eyes fill up with tears.

"I've got a two bedroom, so you can stay with me. For the first year it's probably better if you have a roommate; management likes it when the rookies are supervised."

"Like billeting all over again," Parson says. His eyes dart over at Frank for his reaction, so Frank chuckles a little to see what he'll do with it. The smile Parson gives him in response is earnest and a little relieved. He wants to be liked, Frank assesses.

"Yeah, but no curfew this time." They load Kent's bags into Frank's car. "If you want to bring someone home, make sure it's not on a night before an early flight or an early practice. You're going to need the sleep, and so will I."

"No curfew except for a bedtime." Parson seems like he can't help but look for Frank's approval when he cracks a joke. He's nervous about fitting in.

"Trust me, your first year is going to kick your ass. You won't have time to go out there for tail."

Parson snorts a little, ducking his head away as they get in the car. "Who says _tail_ anymore?"

"Old man captains who are ready for the big win," Frank says, a little sharp. He wants to see how Parson reacts to disapproval, too. "I'm serious about your sleep. You're our missing piece. You'll fit onto the first line right where we need you, and we're going to push all the way. So no teenage bullshit about thinking you're too good to listen to the trainers about sleep rhythms."

Parson is antsy by the time Frank is done talking, bouncing his leg, his eyes on his lap except when he glances at Frank out of the corner.

"I'm twenty," he says, a little subdued but still a chirpy little shit, apparently. "So it wouldn't be teenage bullshit anyway."

Frank snorts at him, smiling wryly. Parson relaxes once Frank is back to laughing with him. In the back of his mind, Frank files away the little details about Parson's body language to use later. He doesn't crumble when his charm doesn't work, but he seems more nervous when he doesn't know where he stands.

For the rest of the drive, Frank keeps it to business. He talks about the guys in the front office, a little. Parson is more curious about the coaching staff than the front office, but he'll learn more about the system when he needs to. Right now, Frank wants him to know who in PR he has to call if he has a midnight emergency that might need some cleanup, which of the press are tolerable, and which one of the suits are morons.

"There was a good ten percent chance they'd be the stupidest organization that ever lived and pass you up," Frank says, and watches curiously as Parson's shoulders hunch up around his ears.

"I'm glad they picked me," Parson says. "I mean, they probably wanted Zimms—Zimmermann."

"We don't need a center, we need a winger," Frank says. If he didn't want to win a Cup so bad, he might have let that little bit of self-deprecation stand, to hook into later when he needed it, but he does. He really fucking does. "I mean, suits will be suits, but you're what we need, not Zimmermann."

Parson's whole body changes when that hits him, once he's done blinking at Frank like he must have heard wrong. He slumps against the car window like his muscles have all gone limp, sighing slowly. Frank thinks Parson thinks he's being subtle about how much it means to him that the Aces would have always picked him first.

Fuck, if all Frank has to do to turn the kid's head is make sure he knows he's wanted, this is going to be easy. He's still going to play it touch and go, because he's pushing forty and has one foot in retirement, and this is his last season win it or lose it. He's going to win it. He's going to win all of it, the Cup and Parson both.

So he reaches across the car and finds Parson's shoulder with his hand. He squeezes reassuringly.

"You're not a second-best Jack Zimmermann. You're a first best Kent Parson, and you're an Ace now. Number one pick, Parser. You earned it."

Parson is grinning down at his hands in his lap, his cheeks a little flushed. He's pressing into Frank's grip on his shoulder. Frank gives him a little pat before he puts his hand back on the steering wheel.

"Parser. I like that," he says softly.

"Good. Get used to it, you'll be stuck with it for a while."

Frank's place isn't all that big; he's single, he doesn't have a pet, and he doesn't have the team over very often, so he doesn't need that much space. The condo is two snug bedrooms, a fairly spacious living room, and a decent kitchen that Frank uses only when he feels like it.

"You're here," Frank says, pushing the door to the spare bedroom open. He doesn't move when the kid comes to look, hand braced on the doorframe high. Instead of bumping him out of the way, Parson—Kent? Parser? Frank decides to keep it on a nickname basis in his head, _Parser_ —slides under his arm and around him, dropping his bags beside the bed.

"Is it okay if I nap?" he asks, sitting on the bed to pull at the laces of his shoes. He does look beat, but for a split second, Frank considers saying no just to see what he'll do.

"Yeah, crash out. I'll wake you up when it's time to go out."

"Oh yeah?" Parser stuffs his socks in his shoes when he takes them off. He tosses his snapback on the nightstand. His hair is ruffled by the hat, sticking up at odd angles. He's got a cowlick in front that won't lay flat even when he drags his fingers through his hair.

"Yeah, you wouldn't want to miss your own welcome party, would you?" Frank smiles at him, and Parser breaks out in an answering grin that looks a little surprised.

"Thanks, Holly." Parser scoots up the bed, rolling over until he's sprawled facedown on top of the covers. Maybe he thinks Frank has already left, or maybe he doesn't care, because he squirms around, kicking his pants off until he's in his shirt and boxers. Frank keeps watching him as his breathing evens out and his hands uncurl on the bedspread beside him. Jesus, Frank made the right decision when he put his claim on the kid first. If he'd been rooming with Blazer, he'd have the kid bent over something already, and it would only halfway matter whether he wanted it. As it is, the round curve of Parser's ass through his boxers is almost too tempting. Frank wants to see if it'll fit as perfectly in his hands as it looks like it will.

He isn't an idiot, though, and he has a hell of a lot more patience than Blazer, so he goes to take a shower and jerk off to the thought of going into his guest room and crawling onto the bed, letting his weight settle on top, teasing Parser awake with his mouth on the soft hollow of Parser's throat until his eyes fluttered open, imaging the confused, lost look on his face. Would he be good for it, or would he try to fight it? Frank wasn't sure which one was hotter in the fantasy, Parser rolling over and giving it up or Parser trying and failing to throw Frank's weight off his back. Frank wondered what he'd sound like if he cried. If he begged. He comes into his fist with a grunt at the mental soundtrack of Parser's voice saying _please, please_ , and decides he's going to have to figure out a way to make the begging happen.

It's a couple more hours before Parser comes wandering out of the bedroom. He's put his pants back on, but left the snapback, his hair fluffed up on one side from sleep. He looks vulnerable. Frank bites back an invitation for Parser to join him on the couch, knowing he can't push too hard or too fast.

"Where are we going out to?" Parser asks, hovering in the kitchen doorway like he's not sure if he can go get anything out of there. He's going to be easy to push into obedience, Frank realizes, with how he waits for permission for every little thing.

"Some club," Frank says. "Not really my scene, but we have standing VIP invitation and it keeps the guys out of trouble when they're kept away from the general populous, so we'll go rub elbows with the high rollers."

"Oh," Parser says, and there's something in his tone that sounds nervous. "Um, okay. Can I get something to drink?"

"Help yourself." Frank waits for him to come back from the kitchen. Water, not beer. Either the kid doesn't believe in pregaming or he thinks Frank is a stickler for rules. "You can have an actual drink, if you want."

"I wasn't sure," Parser says, a sheepish little smile crossing his face. "I'm still underage."

Frank thinks he deserves a medal for not smirking at that one. A big medal. "We're planning on getting you wasted tonight, so that's the last time you say that out loud, got it?"

Parser gives him a mocking little salute. "Got it, Captain Holly."

"Cut that shit out, it's just Holly," Frank says, chuckling a little.

Parser does go back into the kitchen and get a beer, then comes hesitantly into the living room, watching Frank the whole time as he gingerly takes a seat on the other end of the couch. There's baseball on, the tail end of the season.

"You're a Sox fan?" Parser says, a little bit of a mocking drawl behind it.

"Can't give up on the home team," Frank says. "Red Sox 'til I die."

"I should have guessed, with that accent. Boston?"

"Close enough. You?"

"New York. Upstate."

"Don't tell me you're a Yankees fan or I'll have to kick you out," Frank says, only mostly joking. The look of immediate disgust on Parser's face makes him laugh even before the kid answers.

"Ugh, no. It should be the Mets, but enough of the guys in the Q were Blue Jays fans that they converted me."

"You're killing me, Smalls," Frank says, then pauses. "If you make me explain that reference I'm going to fine you for making me feel old."

"I got it," Parser says, laughing. " _The Sandlot_. Best baseball movie or best baseball movie?"

"Ah, no, that'd be _A League of Their Own_. Come on, I thought you had taste."

"It's a good movie!" Parser protests. His body language is loosening up with a little chirping, like he's becoming more comfortable now that it seems like it's okay to be himself. "I loved that movie when I was a kid."

"You're still a kid."

"A _younger_ kid."

Parser is fun to talk to. They go on like that for a little while, standard getting-to-know-you stuff. Frank uses the time to observe how Parser is in conversation, the way he lights up when Frank agrees with him and seems a little deflated when he doesn't, tries extra hard to prove himself with the next thing he says. A plan is beginning to form at the back of his mind, and by the time Parser is two beers in and a little flushed around the cheeks, Frank thinks he's worked out an approach.

His phone rings at about ten, and the guys are downstairs to pick them up. Frank takes the nearly empty beer out of Parser's hand and sets it on the table, then wraps his hand around Parser's upper arm to pull him up, casual contact that Parser doesn't put up any resistance to.

"Hang on," he says, but he doesn't pull away until Frank drops his grip, and he disappears into the bedroom only long enough to grab his worn snapback. When he comes out, it's jammed backward on his head. He probably thinks it makes him look cool.

When they get downstairs, Frank takes a second to be thankful that at least one of the guys on his team has a brain. It's Danno's truck waiting for them, and from the number of arms stuck out windows, there's already four people in it.

"Scoot your ass," Frank says, opening up the back. Sergei and Tanner are already in the back, and Tanner obligingly scoots over to sit on the hump in the middle, Frank folding himself down into the truck. He's lucky it's Tanner and not another of their D-men, because Blazer takes up more than a seat just by the width of his shoulders.

"Uh," Parser says, eyeing the truck. "Should I Uber?"

"Nah, you'll fit," Frank says. "We'll Uber back, might as well save gas on the way there."

"Gas prices in the desert are a bitch," Danno adds, leaned out the driver's side window. "It's not like you can hurt Holly. You're, what, 180 soaking wet?"

"Shut up, 195," Parser says, flushed a little darker than he had been upstairs with the beer. He gingerly climbs into the truck, jumping under Frank's hands when he grabs Parser around the waist and hauls him securely into his lap.

"Seatbelt," he says, making a _gimme_ motion in front of Parser's face. It takes some wrangling, but he manages to get them both buckled into the same seat. "Relax, Parser, I'll make sure you don't go flying out a windshield if Danno fucks up."

Danno gives him the bird from the front seat and puts the truck in gear. Parser's still tense from head to toe, like a stiff block of wood in Frank's lap, but he's not worried about it. If he's read Parser right, he won't say anything even if he is uncomfortable.

Introductions go around the truck, with Parser trying his best not to move too much on Frank's lap. Frank appreciates it, honestly, because he's having a hard enough time keeping his dick from blowing the game open too soon without the kid wiggling to make it worse.

"So, Parson—"

"Parser," Frank corrects, interrupting Blazer.

"Man, Holly gave you a nickname already? You must've made a good first impression," Blazer continues, unperturbed by the interruption.

Parser ducks his head a little, his smile going shy, and Frank catches Danno's eyes in the rearview mirror. He knows how it looks to the rest of him. He knows how much they're itching to get a piece. But they've all got to be patient, or it's not going to happen for any of them.

"Anyway, Parser. You ready for Vegas to light you up?"

"Is Vegas ready for me?" Parser asks, his smile going a little cocky, and the guys whoop in appreciation. Frank hopes they see it, then: the confidence Parser's got in him, how that cockiness will help him on the ice and help carry their team to a Cup. He hopes it helps them get it, why they can't rush it, why they've got to go slow and careful, reel him in by inches.

He hopes, but he doesn't have a ton of confidence, not with the way Danno's eyes keep flicking to the rearview to watch Parser. Frank loops one arm casually around Parser's waist on the pretense of steadying him as he leans forward. _Back off and be patient_ , he thinks, knowing the rest of them can't hear him but hoping his body language is signal enough. Nobody is getting the rookie blackout drunk tonight so he can wake up in a strange hotel room in the morning. That kind of thing could really fuck with his early development.

Parser holds himself stiff through most of the ride, only starting to relax as they finally pull up in front of the club. He's off Frank's lap and out of the truck as soon as they roll to a stop, too. He looks over his shoulder for Frank like he's making sure they aren't pulling something on him, dropping him on his own and driving away or something.

Frank drapes his arm around the kid's shoulders and steers him over to the front of the VIP line.

"Hey boys." It's one of the usual weeknight bouncers. "Ready to kick off the season?"

"You bet your ass," Blazer says, bumping the guy's fist and going through some kind of complicated handshake. He offers a wink and a wave to some of the people waiting in line, who frown at the way the Aces swan into the club like they own the place.

The noise is oppressive, the lights nearly blinding, and the heat smacks Frank in the face as soon as he walks through the door. He keeps Parser tucked tight against his side as they push through the bodies to the staircase that leads to the upper deck. The club staff recognizes them by now, not that it would be hard with half of them decked out in Aces gear.

"Don't look, the Europeans have already arrived," Danno drawls as they clear the stairs.

"I guess we don't count as European," Blazer says to Sergei, his tone so dry it could be the desert outside.

Sergei raises his eyebrows. "You speak Czech now? Mama must be so happy."

"Fuck you, man," Blazer laughs, and they shove each other as they all make their way over to the little group of couches their teammates have claimed.

"Blazer, you son of a bitch! You never call me!" Eddie already has a light flush across his cheeks when he gets up unsteadily from the couch and wraps Blazer up in what would be a bear hug if Blazer didn't have four inches of height on him. The alcohol always shows easy on Eddie's coloring, pale blond hair washing out his face. He looks like a damn elf.

"Maybe I have better things to do than talk to your ugly mug all summer," Blazer laughs, slapping him on the back.

"Where's Sasha?" Sergei asks, looking around the booth.

"Went to get new trade," Matts says from the couch. "From Belarus. Speaks Russian I guess?"

"Shiiiiiit," Sergei says. "He either loves or hates Russians, this will be fun."

"Ah, politics." Eddie's tone is a little mournful. "Can't you all agree Putin is the worst and move on?"

"Some days I think Sasha say he likes Putin out of spite." Sergei reaches down and pries a bottle away from Kiwi, who looked like he was trying to sneak it behind him. "Is okay, I sic him on you for getting his baby goalie drunk."

"I'm legal in US now!" Kiwi protests, his face flushing hot. If it weren't for Sasha, Kiwi would probably be in Parser's place right now. He's small for a goalie, barely six foot, and his hair curls around his ears when it gets too long. His eyes dart around between them and settle on Parser. "Kent Parson!"

"Uh?" Parser says, jolting a little under Frank's arm.

"You come here, drink with me. Old men can talk about politics, you tell me about Drummondville." Kiwi snatches his bottle back from Sergei. "Number one pick! Going to bring us a Cup, right?"

" _Kiwi_ ," several voices groan simultaneously. Sergei spits on the ground.

"Goalie magic makes me immune from jinxes," Kiwi says loftily, as much as a twenty-two-year-old squirt could look lofty.

Parser drifts over to Kiwi, letting the kid tug him down onto the couch. They look kind of like a pair of puppies, Kiwi shoving the bottle into Parser's hands and encouraging him to take a drink, Parser, sipping at it cautiously enough that Kiwi makes a face and makes him do it again before he'll take it back.

Frank sits down next to Matts, who looks like he's working on his usual beginning of the season sunburn. It isn't like they don't get sunshine in Sweden, Matts told him once very seriously, it's only that it isn't quite so _bright_. Frank thinks he's full of shit and probably burns just as bad back home while he's skiing in the off season. Matts pours Frank a drink and hands it to him, then hums to himself as they both watch Parser and Kiwi getting themselves tipsy on the other couch.

"Sometimes I could happily push Sasha into traffic, I think," Matts says, his voice light, and Frank knows exactly what he means. His hands-off warning about Parser was a practical consideration. Sasha threatening to use his skates to castrate anyone who touched Kiwi was purely sentimental.

"It's not going to be forever, with Parser," Frank says.

"Just until you seduce him for yourself?" Matts raises his eyebrows, taking a long sip from his glass like he's just served Frank with an uncomfortable truth. Frank shrugs, downs his own glass in one swallow, and pours another.

"If I trusted anyone else to be able to handle the balance, it would be different. You want to win as bad as I do, don't fucking lie to me and say you don't."

"I do, I want to win," Matts says, the words coming out in a long sigh.

"Cheer up, because we're fucking gonna," Tanner says, slinging himself onto the couch on Frank's other side. "I've been watching that kid's tape, and he's going to blow the rest of us out of the water, holy shit. You should watch him skate, it's like the fucking Flash on ice. Can't believe I'm going to get to have that on my wing."

"You're assuming a lot before even going into training camp," Frank drawls. "Who says they aren't going to put him on my wing?"

"On the second line?" Tanner scoffs, probably not even aware of how much the dig lodges underneath Frank's sternum like a knife. "Yeah, no way in hell. Not after the way he played when he won the Memorial."

"Where's everyone else?" Frank asks, changing the subject. He doesn't want to talk about being moved to the second line, even though everyone knows it's time. Fuck, everyone knows it's time for Frank to hang it up, with the way he practically lives with ice packs on his knees during the season.

"Sasha just texted, he's on his way with the new guy. Teddy isn't coming, you know they just had their baby—"

"Shit, that's right, I have to get them a card or something."

"Soup and Hunts were coming in on the same flight, it got delayed, they should be here later. Eli had to go pick Speedy up, something about his car having trouble. Boss isn't coming. Hams might make it, but he also might fall asleep on his couch, you know him. Ollie and Fizz are coming, but they had to stop and do some errand for Ollie's wife." Tanner pauses, a wrinkle appearing between his eyebrows, his lips moving silently as he counts on his fingers. "Who am I forgetting?"

"Girard is on the roster now," Matts adds. "Permanent, no going back to Reno for him."

"Billy the Kid," Tanner says, and whistles low. Frank pours himself another drink. 

Last year, it was Girard that Blazer couldn't keep his hands off of. He'd seemed eager enough to give it up at the time, but nervous when more of them got added to the mix. Luckily, being sent back to Reno created some distance. Usually once they had some space and a summer to lock everything away in a box they would never look at or acknowledge again, their rookie call-ups did fine. Frank hoped that would prove true for Girard, and he wouldn't have to manufacture some reason to unload him by the trade deadline. The kid was a decent fourth-liner, a heads-up player. Nothing like Parser, but nothing to toss aside if they could help it.

"That's why you're taking this one so slow, isn't it?" Tanner asks. "With Parser, I mean. Because we're not sending him down, so he wouldn't get time in Reno to clear his head."

"Always knew you were the smart one, Tanner," Frank says.

From the other couch, where Sergei and Eddie are still cheerfully arguing European politics, Sergei suddenly stands with a wordless, happy roar, dumping most of his drink on Eddie's pants in the process. While Eddie tries to find enough bar napkins to mop up the mess, Sergei vaults the table and practically tackles Sasha at the top of the stairs, the two of them talking—more like yelling—in Russian as they slap each other on the back.

"Parser!" Sergei yells, waving him over. "Parser, this Sasha, best goalie, better than your new friend Kiwi. Sasha, Parser."

"Aleksander," Sasha says, offering his hand to shake. "Maybe I let you call me Sasha, you win games, yes?"

Most guys would probably be intimidated by Sasha. He's got a couple inches on Frank, and he's just an all around big guy. Not as built as he used to be, his middle going a little soft now that he's well in his thirties, but still broad in the shoulders. Parser doesn't even blink, taking the offered hand.

"Kent. I'm pretty sure I'm Parser for life now, though."

"Making friend with Kiwi?" Sasha asks. "Is good, friend for my son."

"I'm not your son! I have a dad, he stays across the ocean where he belongs!" Kiwi yells from the couch, but Sasha waves him off like he didn't hear anything. 

He turns, and abruptly Frank realizes that he's not alone. The guy with him is almost as big as Sasha but much quieter, watching the animated reunion. Frank hauls himself up to his feet and goes to meet the new trade.

"Frank," he says, offering his hand. "Call me Holly."

"Leo," the guy says, his grip firm but not overwhelming. He's nothing special to look at, a plain face with a square jaw and brown eyes.

He keeps an eye on Parser and the rest of the guys as he chats with Leo about the move from Houston to Las Vegas. Kiwi coaxes him back to the couch with the promise of more alcohol, but this time Danno sits down on one side of them, and then Eddie makes Kiwi shove over. Four on the couch is something of a squish, and Parser gets the brunt of being sandwiched between two bigger guys. He doesn't seem to notice. He takes a big swig from the bottle Kiwi hands him and leans over Eddie to pass it back.

"So, that is first draft pick," Leo says, when the conversation reaches a lull. "Doesn't look like next big star. Kind of ehhh… English word is _twink?_ "

Frank chokes on his drink, sputtering with laughter. "Who taught you that?"

Leo looks unimpressed. "I'm twenty-five, not twelve. Have lots of time to learn English."

"I didn't mean it like that, it's just not a word you'd hear in conversation."

"Makes easy to look for porn when using right words." Leo snorts at Parser and reaches out to snag a shot from a nearby tray. "Looks like boy I'd have sucking dick, not passing puck."

Somehow, it seems like the Aces end up with all the assholes. Frank might start to think other teams are trading their morally questionable types here on purpose.

"He's really that good," Frank says instead. "Keep it to puck bunnies, and use an NDA if you're going to let anyone with a dick suck yours. We don't need the publicity."

"Six years in NHL, still new captain thinks I'm idiot rookie," Leo complains, though it sounds good-natured.

Ollie and Fizz come in next, and there's another round of greetings, and Frank ends up doing shots with Fizz like he always does when they get together. By the time he's leaning back against the couch, a glass cradled in one hand, watching the rest of his team ply the rookie with shots, Eli and Speedy show up. They have Girardi with them, and a shout goes up from the team loud enough to turn heads from the other sections.

Girardi isn't as pretty as Parser, but he's not bad on the eyes and he has a great ass. Last year, that had been plenty for Blazer. This year, Girardi doesn't even flinch when he gets a back-slapping hug from the guy. Maybe he's made his peace, or maybe Frank's rather blunt assessment of the kid had been right, and he was a little too dumb to realize he'd been manipulated into bending over. Frank shakes his hand and congratulates him on being there, and that's that.

Parser, nearly falling over his own feet, goes to say hi and ends up hugging, apparently an affectionate drunk.

"Bring him over here," Frank calls, laughing, and a half-bewildered Girardi staggers over with Parser draped on him. Parser slides down onto the couch and lists over until his head is on Frank's shoulder. Frank leaves it there.

"Drunk already, rookie? You'll learn not to let the Finns feed you alcohol. All they have to do for half the year up there is get wasted."

Kiwi flips him off. It's nice that the kid has confidence, he brings good energy to the locker room, but if Sasha hadn't decided to be a dick about it, he would put the little brat over his knee. He won't have that problem with Parser, he's nearly positive. When Frank carefully shifts his arm out from under Parser's cheek, Parser leans even further into him, face mashed into Frank's chest.

Kiwi, having lost his first drinking buddy, descends on Speedy and Eli to drag the Americans down to dance. He grabs Girard as he passes, and then it's just the older crowd and Parser, who's blinking vaguely at the flashing lights on the ceiling and leaning his whole body weight against Frank like a damn cat.

"Shit, would you look at that," Danno says. "Holly has a heart somewhere in there."

"I'm observing how much of a lightweight our franchise savior is," Frank says.

"I am not," Parser slurs, sleepy but stirred with indignation. "Kiwi just kept handing me the bottle."

Danno laughs and reaches out to knock Parser's snapback off and mess with his hair. Parser pouts and swats at his hand, but he's not coordinated enough to do anything about it, and Danno ends up leaving his hand right where it is, the touch turning from playful to soothing. It looks like it's putting Parser to sleep, his eyes sliding shut.

"Holly."

Frank looks up. Most of the rest of the guys are watching while pretending not to watch. Sergei, Sasha and Leo have claimed one of the other couches and are holding court in Russian, and now and again Sergei will glance over, stare at Parser for a moment, and go back to his drink. Eddie's piercing blue eyes never leave them, glittering over the edge of his glass as he sips. Fizz is trying to wheel one of the shot girls, with Ollie playing long-suffering wingman, but they're staring when she's not looking.

"Holly," Matts says again, sitting on Frank's other side. Frank watches him lick his lips as he watches Danno try to brush down the unruly hair on Parser's head, and drapes his arm over the kid, his hand splaying a little possessively over his thigh. Parser's eyes open just a little and close again.

"No," Frank says, calm and stern.

" _Holly—_ "

"Fuck off, I said no." Frank waves his glass at one of the girls and she fills it, a perfect mask of politeness fixed on her face. The staff here hates them because they take up half the VIP section and scare off the rest of their clientele. Frank thinks it's hilarious.

"Seriously? Look at him." This time it's Blazer, standing off to the side of the couch, hunger written all over his face.

"You fuckers want to spend April golfing or playing hockey?" Frank snaps, because his team is full of fucking idiots who think with their dicks. "Call Soup and Hunts and make sure they didn't get fucking lost on their way in from the airport."

"You have a guy named Soup," Parser says vaguely, with a little drunken giggle into Frank's chest. Frank hopes he only heard half of that conversation, or that he's too drunk to figure it out.

"His name is Campbell," Frank says. "Never let it be said that the guys are creative."

"Why d'you call him Kiwi?"

"His last name is Kivi. I'm serious, not creative."

"You're one to talk, Holly," Danno says, giving Parser one last pat on the head before he pulls his hand away. Parser makes a little noise in his throat that Frank is sure he only hears because they're pressed up against each other. "You weren't exactly creative with kiddo here either."

"Not a kid," Parser mumbles. He's fading fast. Frank wants to stick around for Soup and Hunts, but that might just mean he has the rookie sleeping on him for half the night. He gives Parser's thigh a little squeeze and feels him sigh.

"Sure you aren't," Frank says. "It's fine if you pass out, you know. I won't let the guys draw on your face."

He feels movement and looks down to see Parser kicking his shoes off. "Can't now, didn't pass out in my shoes."

"This isn't Juniors," Blazer laughs.

"Mmhmm," Parser murmurs, and then he's out. Frank leaves his arm right where it is, almost like he's shielding Parser from the team. He doesn't usually mistrust his guys this much, but he has to admit Parser is doing nothing but making it easy on them.

"No," he says again, to stave off any more protests. "Let me handle it."

"Greedy fucker," Matts accuses, but it's cheerful enough, and he gets up to go get another drink.

The party continues on around them while Frank stays sprawled out on the couch with Parser curled tight to his side. By the time the team is halfway to wasted, Parser is drooling a little on Frank's shirt.

"You have to chirp him for that," Eli says, laughing, his still-perfect, white teeth bright against the dark skin of his lips. "Like, forever, man. I can't believe you're letting him drool on you."

"Rookie privilege," Frank says, idly sliding his thumb across the stip of skin between Parser's jeans and the hem of his shirt. "He gets to do this one time without chirping, and then all bets are off."

"I'm gonna start to think he's your favorite," Eli says. "What do I have to do to get the captain to let me cuddle?"

There are a lot of answers Frank can make to that question, but only a few that won't give up the game. Eli, Speedy, and Kiwi are all kept pretty firmly in the dark about the team's extracurricular activities. Only Kiwi had come up through Reno, and that with Sasha's hands-off warning. The other two had been trades. Nobody wanted to take the risk of having them react badly and blow the whole thing wide open.

"You're too big for that," Frank finally says. "I don't know what they've been feeding this kid, but it's not enough. He's kinda skinny."

"Holly!"

That's Soup, finally arrived with Hunts in tow, looking exhausted. The two of them must have had a hell of a travel day.

"I'd get up, but." Frank gestures at Parser, sprawled out over the couch with his head on Holly's chest, out cold.

"So that's the rook, eh?" Soup asks, giving Parser a slow once-over, his eyes lingering on his sleeping face and parted lips. "You got him drunk pretty fast."

"Blame Kiwi," Eli says. "He's all excited to be legal in the States now."

"That kid makes me feel old," Hunts complains, sitting down on Frank's other side. Matts had vacated that spot a little while ago when Frank made it clear he wasn't making an exception to his hands-off rule. "So is the kid a lightweight or did Kiwi feed him half a bottle of vodka?"

"Little of column A, little of column B," Frank says. "I didn't expect him to pass out so quick. I think I should probably take him home, was just waiting on the two of you."

Soup and Hunts exchange a look. "Waiting for…?" Soup asked, his eyes on Parser.

"Waiting to say hi," Frank snaps, tired of repeating himself. Maybe Sergei and Danno hadn't actually gotten the word out like he'd told them to. Irritated, Frank sits up. Parser is more out of it than he thought, sliding further down until his head is in Frank's lap.

Frank sits him up quick, before the guys can get any more ideas. "Parser. Hey, kid."

"'S early," Parser slurred, tipping forward against Frank's hands.

"Definitely time to get baby rookies back home," Frank says. He doesn't trust anyone else not to cop a feel, so he points at Eli, who's still standing closest. "Help me get him up."

"Aw, man, what if he pukes on me?" Eli does what he's asked, though, helping Frank get Parser under the arms and set him up on his feet. Parser cracks his eyes open, licks his lips, and blinks vaguely at them.

"Holly? Time t' go?"

"It's been time to go, kid, you passed out like an hour ago." Frank slings Parser's arm over his shoulders and gets him around the waist. "Ah, shit, he doesn't even have his shoes on."

Parser mumbles something about nobody drawing on his face, his head lolling onto Frank's shoulder. If Frank wasn't trying to get him out of the club before someone noticed he looks too young to be this wasted, he'd probably find it funny.

Kiwi staggers into Eli, knocking them both a little sideways. He's flushed red, definitely almost as drunk as Parser. He takes one look at the rookie and starts giggling.

"Sorry I broke your draft pick, Holly," he says between giggles.

"Help me get his shoes back on him and we're even," Frank says. He has to keep from rolling his eyes when Kiwi slides down onto the floor and five different sets of eyes are immediately trained on their tableau. Kiwi isn't doing anything more than picking up Parser's feet and sliding them into his shoes, but it isn't lost on Frank what a good picture he makes on his knees.

He thinks he can hear Sasha's wordless growl of disapproval from all the way on the other couch, though, so he ruffles Kiwi's hair once he gets Parser's foot shoved into his other sneaker. "Thanks. Alright, Parser, I'm gonna need you to help me out. We've gotta get down the stairs."

"Too far," Parser whines. He's got one hand clutching at Frank's shirt, and with his head on Frank's shoulder, he's practically talking into the skin of Frank's neck.

"Eli?" Frank raises his eyebrows.

"Fine, fine," Eli grumbles.

Between the two of them, they manage to get Parser down the stairs from the VIP section without dropping him. The kid isn't much help, dragging his feet and stumbling against Frank's side. He's barely coherent, and he looks like he'll probably pass out again in the back of the cab.

Eli helps him manhandle Parser into the cab and get his seatbelt buckled, grinning when Parser tries to hug him from his seat. He bats Parser's hands away gently and shuts the door to the cab before Parser can fall back out of it.

"Goodnight, cap! Goodnight, rook! Learn how to hold your vodka if you're gonna drink with the Finns!"

Parser doesn't hear a word of it. As soon as the cab starts moving, he slumps over to lean on Frank again, his eyes closed.

"Don't drool on me again," Frank says.

"Sorry," Parser answers. He sounds a little morose about it, so Frank throws him a bone, shifting until he's got his arm around Parser and can smooth his thumb over the hair on the back of Parser's neck. He shivers, a whole-body movement, and his lips part again. "Feels good."

"Yeah?" Frank asks. He scratches, a little, his nails scraping over the nape of Parser's neck and making him shiver again.

"Yeah," Parser breathes. "You're warm."

He's leaning into Frank's touch and doesn't even realize he's doing it. Frank wonders if he's a cuddly drunk in general, or if this has something to do with Zimmermann and the OD. He knows the rumors as well as anyone else, and nearly having someone die on you is enough to turn most people's heads around. From the story he read, Parser was the one who found him.

"Don't fall asleep, I don't want to carry your ass inside. You're not that skinny."

"Not skinny. 'S all muscle."

"You keep telling yourself that."

"Mmm," Parser hums, trying to press more firmly into Frank's side. The seatbelt won't let him, keeping the middle seat's worth of space between them. "You're so nice."

"Taking care of the rookies is my job." Frank holds back a smile at the irony, but barely. "Besides, I like you, kid."

"Yeah?" Parser asks, sounding pathetically hopeful. He even tries to sit up a little, presumably so he can look at Frank's face while he says it. Frank tightens his grip on the back of Parser's neck, subtle pressure, and Parser melts against him all over again. God, the kid is so _easy_.

"Yeah, of course I do. Come on, stay awake."

"Trying." Parser sounds so sleepy. He keeps pulling on his seatbelt like he wants it out of the way. Frank is pretty sure that if he let him, Parser would be in his lap right about now.

It's too fast, and too soon. Too much risk of Parser freaking his shit out because he let something slip that he doesn't want Frank to know. Frank is pretty sure he's got Parser pegged, by now, but he's not going to push it.

Parser does manage to walk mostly under his own power when they get back to Frank's apartment, staggering through the front door. He whines when Frank makes him walk all the way back to the bedroom, tumbling into bed and kicking at his shoes.

"I've got it," Frank says, pulling Parser's shoes off. He pauses, his hands hovering for a moment, but starts tugging at Parser's shirt, too. Parser doesn't object or even seem to think it's weird, just lets Frank strip him of his shirt and then tug his pants down and off. He's sprawled out over the bed in just his underwear, all pale skin and lean muscle. Frank's mouth is watering. He has to get out of here before the alcohol and Parser squirming around in the bed combine to break his resolve.

"Jack," Parser mumbles, as Frank starts to stand up from the bed. Parser's eyes aren't open. He reaches out with one hand, drunkenly patting the bed until he finds Frank, fingers closing around Frank's wrist. "Please stay, Jack."

If Frank had any doubts before, he doesn't now. He can read between the lines of all those pictures they published in the thinkpieces about Zimmermann, the way Parser's eyes lingered on the kid and the way he always seemed to hover in the vicinity whenever Zimmermann was on camera.

"Shh," he says, prying Parser's grip off his wrist. Parser is drunk enough that it isn't even hard. "I'll be in the next room. You're fine."

"Jack," he says again, into the pillow. "Jack, 'm sorry."

Frank should leave. He knows Parser is already going to freak out in the morning if he remembers this, because it's something that he _should_ be playing so close to the vest nobody will ever find out about it. It sure as hell makes Frank's job easier, though, and he can think of a few ways he can turn that freakout to his advantage.

So he sits down on the bed again and lets himself reach out and touch, running his fingers through Parser's hair and over the short hairs at the back of his neck. Parser relaxes, slowly sinking down into the bed, and in no time at all he's falling asleep while Frank's hand strokes down his spine, snoring softly and drooling a little on the pillow.

Frank can get up and leave now, but for all that he usually has more willpower than the rest of his team, he's still human. Parser is laid out like someone fucking gift-wrapped him, nearly naked and almost definitely out of it enough that nothing Frank does is going to wake him up. The thought is getting him hard, even though he's had plenty to drink himself.

He can't do anything that'll linger. It's too soon for him to be able to play off something like Parser tasting come in his mouth, or fucking him until he's sore. He'll have to make do with just touching, but that's going to be more than enough with the way the kid looks right now. He's so fucking easy. Frank has Parser all to himself, at least for now, and it would be a wasted opportunity not to take advantage of it.

Slowly, watching for any sign that Parser might wake up from his drunken stupor, Frank works the boxer briefs down over the perfect curve of his ass. He needs to put on more muscle all over, but his ass is still fucking spectacular. Frank wants to sink his teeth into it, but he holds back, contenting himself with fitting his palms over both cheeks and squeezing. He spreads Parser open to look at his hole, pink and tight, and wonders if he and Zimmermann ever got as far as fucking. 

The thought that Frank might actually get to fuck him before anyone else has him reaching down to pull his dick out of his pants. He's not going to do it tonight, but he can rub his thumb over Parser's asshole and stroke himself, imagining what it's going to be like when he can fuck into him. He wants to open Parser up on his cock, enough lube to make it good for him but not quite enough that it doesn't hurt. He wants to hear what Parser will sound like when Frank does it.

Frank scoots forward on his knees, rubbing the head of his dick along the crack of Parser's gorgeous ass. He's pretty sure he can get away with this without waking Parser up, so he squeezes the cheeks together around his dick and ruts like that, with the firm muscles of Parser's ass surrounding him, until he grunts and comes all over Parser's lower back.

He looks good like that, with his underwear around his thighs, marked up with Frank's come, his mouth hanging open and his eyes closed. It's nice to get to indulge every once in a while. Frank toys with the idea of snapping a picture or two, but he's heard all kinds of stuff lately about servers getting hacked, and he doesn't want to risk it. Maybe he'll go pick up an old Polaroid, for next time.

It's easy to wipe Parser down and pull his underwear back up. He doesn't even twitch, completely out of it, still snoring softly. Frank stays, watching him for several long, slow breaths, trying to see if he's faking, but Parser doesn't move for as long as he stands there. Satisfied, Frank goes back to his own bedroom, strips down, and crawls into bed. The afterglow from his orgasm and the lingering feeling of being pleasantly drunk is enough to put him to sleep quick.


	2. Chapter 2

Parser is about how Frank expected him to be the next morning: nervous, jumpy, and kind of freaking out. When he stumbles into the kitchen to find Frank frying bacon, the color drains from his face.

"Hey, Holly," he croaks, trying to sound normal and failing miserably. Frank could laugh at him, if he wasn't trying to ease the kid in.

"Morning, sleeping beauty. How's that vodka the next morning?"

"God," Parser says, slumping onto one of the barstools and then down over the counter like he's melted there. "I'm never drinking with Kiwi again. That guy should come with a warning label."

"I _tried_ to warn you. I bet you'll listen to your captain the next time, huh?" Frank transfers a batch of bacon from the skillet to a plate, then slides it across the bar to Parser. "Eat that, and drink a shitton of Gatorade. Bottles in the fridge. You need to replace your electrolytes."

"Uh-huh," Parser mumbles, but he doesn't move to get up from where he is, head resting on the bar, his arms sprawled out to either side. Frank momentarily moves the skillet off the burner to grab one of the bottles of Gatorade, which he presses to the bare skin at the back of Parser's neck.

Parser yelps, flails around so much that he falls off the barstool, and stares up at Frank with a confounded, betrayed look on his face. Frank sets the bottle down on the bar and goes back to cooking before he can start imagining that look on Parser's face in bed. It's too early for him to have to use this much willpower.

"Drink that and eat your bacon," he says, and slams half a cup of coffee before peeling off more bacon to fry.

Parser does. He somehow manages to make shoveling an entire plate of bacon into his face look meek, which gives Frank the urge to put whiskey in his coffee.

"We have media tomorrow, and then training camp starts the next day. Use today to take care of your shit, if you need to. Or nap and recover from that hangover."

"'Kay," Parser says, His mouth full, and cracks open the Gatorade to chug it like he was told to.

Frank does actually have shit to do in advance of training camp. Parser isn't the only rookie he has to check in with, so he leaves his place to drop in on Speedy and Eli's apartment, making sure Girardi—who they're definitely calling Billy, since the two Americans are using it now—has gotten settled in.

Billy is quick to reassure him that everything is fine. He's almost acting like he wants Frank out of his space, especially when Frank leans in the doorway of his bedroom, talking to him about the media the next day.

"You're a lock for the roster, if that's what you're worried about," Frank says finally, because he can't have Billy being weird around Parser and spooking him.

"Thanks, Holly." Billy still won't look at him, though, his eyes sliding away to the floor, and Frank bites back a sigh.

"Look, you did your hazing already, okay? Blazer's bored of you now. No worries." It's the closest he'll ever come to acknowledging what went on with Billy last year, and he hopes the kid will take the hint.

Billy jolts, his eyes wide and a little scared. Frank wasn't one of the ones who messed around with him last year; he was busy cursing his fucking knees and languishing on LTIR to be around the team much.

"Nobody is going to tell anyone," Billy says quickly. "The guys that weren't here last year—Leo and Speedy—nobody is going to say anything, right?"

Frank almost laughs. If this is what the kid is worried about, he can take care of it.

"Nobody is going to say shit, man. It's not like they want to talk about that part of rookie year either, yeah?" Frank has gotten a lot of mileage out of the do your time implications over the years. Billy, just like Tanner before him, seems to accept it. He scrubs his hand through his hair and rolls his shoulders like the tension is disappearing from them.

"Okay. Yeah. Makes sense. Thanks again, Holly."

"Anytime, kid. Glad to have you on the roster. Get some good sleep tonight, and don't let the Americans get you drunk."

"After last night, I don't think I want to be drunk for a month," Billy says, and he's laughing and making eye contact and seems totally put at ease. He really isn't that bright, so it's a good thing he's good at hockey. One for the win column.

Parser is in his room with the door shut when Frank comes home, and he can hear the sound of low voices on the other side of the door. He leaves Parser be, though he orders enough takeout to feed both of them. Parser still hasn't come out by the time Frank is ready for bed, so Frank just taps on the door, tells him dinner is in the kitchen, and goes to crash out. The season might not start until October, but for them, their year starts tomorrow.

He makes sure to wake Parser up personally, shaking him by the shoulder until he opens his eyes and blinks up at Frank, half-asleep. Frank lets his hand linger, brushing the back of his knuckles over Parser's shoulder as he pulls back. Parser doesn't seem to notice, but that isn't the point, getting him used to Frank touching him whenever he feels like is.

"Up and at 'em, kid, we have a long day of talking at cameras and doing whatever weird PR bullshit they want us to do."

"Buh," Parser says incoherently, and still looks out of it when Frank leaves the room.

He's more put together by the time they get to the rink, and he seems antsy, too, fidgeting around in his seat. Frank pats his knee, once again letting his hand sit a little too long before pulling it back.

"Calm down, you're going to give me a headache. It's just media day."

"You've done this a thousand times, okay, this is my first," Parser says. His ragged old Drummondville snapback is gone, lost in the club, and he seems to miss it, fussing with his hair any chance he gets. Frank grabs his wrist when he starts to mess with it again.

"You're going to give the camera people fits. Listen, the only thing you have to do is smile, look pretty, and don't say anything stupid. You can handle that, right?" Frank lets his wrist go after trailing his thumb over the beat of Parser's pulse, and watches the kid's eyelids flutter just a little. By the end of the week, he wants Parser gagging for it. He's pretty sure it's going to be easier than he thought it would.

"Yeah, okay." Parser takes in a deep breath, holds it for a couple beats, and lets it out. "I'm just… I don't want to screw this up, you know? You're acting like I'm going to be here the whole season, but I know how the ELC thing works, I know I could spend some time in Reno if I can't hack it."

"You won't," Frank says. "Not unless you're planning a spectacular crash and burn in training camp."

"I'm not _planning_ it—"

"Parser. The only thing you're going to do by worrying is psych yourself out. Fucking breathe, you're making me nervous just looking at you and I've been doing this shit longer than you've been alive."

Parser is still all nerves as they get into the dressing room where the team mills around, waiting for their turn in the makeup chair and in front of the lights. He jitters from Frank to Kiwi to Tanner, the three people on the team he's talked with the most. Frank makes sure to touch him whenever he comes close, ruffling his hair or patting him on the back.

They make Frank talk about his fucking knees, which puts him in a pissy mood, especially since the rest of the team is standing just off-camera, watching his turn with the media. They ask him about expectations and he gives some kind of PR-friendly bullshit answer about this being their year.

Parser, of course, has nothing to worry about when they actually stick him in front of the camera. Frank is watching him, along with the rest of the team, the whispered conversations off-camera dying down to hear what he says when they ask him about going first overall and coming to a struggling franchise.

"No pressure, right?" Parser says, laughing and inviting the media to laugh with him. It's perfect, the way he flashes that crooked, winning smile. He's good at this. Frank wonders if Bad Bob Zimmermann taught him. "Nah, I'm just kidding. There is pressure, but I don't mind it. I'm only just getting to know the guys, but they're great, I'm really looking forward to getting on the ice with them. I think we're gonna be awesome out there."

It's exactly the kind of sound byte friendly response PR has had to beat into most of the rest of the team. From just out of camera range behind Parser, Megan looks like she's about to burst into tears of joy.

Frank claps Parser on the back as soon as he gets up. "Great job. Watch out or Megan might try to marry you."

Parser laughs awkwardly and shrugs. He doesn't do anything about Frank's hand, still resting on his shoulder, his thumb slipping over the collar of Parser's T-shirt until it's touching bare skin. Frank doesn't take his hand away until he has to go talk to someone else, letting it drop naturally as if there was no reason to remove it.

On the ice, Parser is everything they've been promised. Frank can see the difference between him and the other prospects, the ones that'll be sent to Reno or, in the case of one or two of the more recent picks, back to Juniors or college for more development. Parser sees the game, the way players five and ten years older than him sometimes have trouble with. He keeps his head up, he's fast, he can turn on a dime, and he runs his fucking mouth.

It starts on the third day of training camp, when he gets a little bit more comfortable with the guys. Coach Henderson is having them do line rushes, and nobody is surprised when Parser ends up on Tanner's wing, opposite Sergei. They're rushing up the ice toward Sasha like they're on a three-man breakaway, and Parser takes a pass from Tanner clean, right on the tape, and barely settles it before firing it to where Sergei is. Or, to where Sergei should be, if he wasn't lagging behind. The puck bounces off the tip of Sergei's stick and goes wild, thumping against the boards.

"Come on!" Parser says, stopping before he slams into the boards. "Did they stick a dancing bear in hockey pads? Keep up!"

Sergei's face turns an ugly red and his jaw clenches. Frank, who has one eye on them from the other side of the ice, fights not to laugh at Sergei's expense.

"You say I'm old, I make you swallow teeth!" Sergei snaps back, and skates over to retrieve the puck, going back to their own blue line to start the rush again.

"He's going to draw so many penalties for us if he stays that mouthy," Eli sighs, his hands laced over his stick and his chin propped on them, staring at Parser with an almost dreamy-eyed look. Blazer, on their other side, does a double take. If Frank knows Blazer, which he does, it's because Blazer was thinking about how he could smack Parser right in his smart mouth.

"He is," Frank says, because Eli has got the right idea here. The next time Tanner, Parser, and Sergei rush up the ice, Sergei puts a little more steam in his legs, and the passes connect. Nobody likes to be chirped about being slow by a fucking pipsqueak, and it's making Sergei step up his game. They need that.

So he taps Parser on the ass with his stick as they're leaving the ice to make room for the next group. "You look good out there."

"Yeah?" Parser asks, a smile breaking out over his face. Frank is going to have to remember how well he responds to praise.

"Yeah, you're going to be great on Tanner's wing. They'll probably start you out on mine, though. At least in the pre-season."

"Hope you can keep up better than Sergei," Parser says, grinning.

Frank shoves the back of his head. "You'll be playing a different game with me than you will with him. Tanner's a little speed demon like you, but I play more of a patience game in front of the net."

"So you want me to feed you in the crease, basically." Parser's eyes go a little unfocused as he stares out a the ring, his head tilted a bit to one side. He's imagining it, Frank realizes, visualizing the ice and the pieces moving on it.

"I'm impressed," Frank says, nudging Kent's knee with his own. "You've got good hockey sense."

Parser ducks his head again, probably trying to hide the way it makes him grin helplessly whenever Frank says something nice. "Thanks."

Frank keeps it up over the course of the week, the praise and the touching both. Parser is about as dead tired when they get back to the apartment every night as Frank expected, and the amount of money he pays to his meal service has easily doubled, if not tripled. Parser eats like he's starving at every meal, probably because he is. It's been so long since Frank was a teenager that he only has fuzzy memories, but feeling like he could never put enough food in his stomach to stop feeling hungry is pretty vivid.

"Slow down," he says dryly, watching Parser wolf down two whole chicken breasts and a huge pile of cheesy broccoli rice like he doesn't even need to take breaths between chewing. He chugs half a bottle of water in one go and goes back to it, either ignoring Frank or too zoned in on stuffing his face to listen. Frank grabs his wrist, pinning his hand to the kitchen table. "You're going to choke on something."

"'M hungry," Parser mumbles around the bite in his mouth. He isn't trying to pull away from the grip Frank has on his arm.

"Yeah, get used to that, it'll stick around until you stop filling out." Frank lets the palm of his hand slide up Parser's forearm to his bicep, squeezing. "You've got plenty of that left to do."

Pink creeps into Parser's cheeks. He's looking down at his plate, but Frank catches him sneaking a glance through his eyelashes. He lets go of Parser's arm with another squeeze and a pat, and doesn't miss the way Parser leans toward him, just a little, like he misses the contact. Progress. He's got the kid on the hook, now he has to be patient with the reel.

Parser makes the roster out of training camp. Nobody thought anything different would happen, except maybe Parser, who can't seem to stop grinning when he finds out. He skates circles around the rest of them, high on the achievement. Holly at one point reaches out and snags him around the waist, reeling him in and shoving his helmet down over his eyes.

"Save some of that energy for the preseason," he says. He knows the other guys are watching, seeing how Parser nudges his hip against Holly's and laughs instead of trying to break away from him. How Parser leans into him, just a little bit.

Their first preseason game is on a Thursday, in their home arena. Parser looks like he's about to jitter out of his skin in the locker room. He retapes his stick four times until Holly takes it out of his hand, looks it over, and hands it back.

"Looks good. Stop redoing it or you'll have to redo it on the bench."

"Sorry," Parser says, ducking his head sheepishly. "I'm just nervous."

"You've got nothing to be nervous about," Holly says, and ruffles his hair. He lets his hand linger, sliding through the short hair on the nape of Parser's neck, and takes in the way Parser looks up at him like Holly is the best thing he's ever seen.

Parser gets an assist in that very first game, on Tanner's goal. The two of them slam together on the ice, hugging and grinning, while the rest of the guys pile around them. Tanner was sweet, when he was Parser's age, but not quite as eager to please. Holly watches Sergei swat Parser on the ass through his hockey pants, watches Parser's pleased flush rise a little higher in his cheeks.

They take him out for beers after cooldown, but he only drinks one and begs off before too long.

"I'm so tired, I feel like I'm going to fall over," he says, when the rest of the guys chirp him about it.

"Is past your bedtime anyway," Sergei teases, and Parser throws a coaster at him. Holly gets up with a groan, patting his pockets to make sure his wallet is still there.

"Alright, let's go."

"I can take a cab if you want to stay," Parser says, hovering over Holly's shoulder.

"Nah. You may be a baby with a bedtime, but I'm old. Can't keep up with these jokers anymore."

"Have you gotten your AARP membership yet?" Tanner says, still smiling like an idiot. Holly flips him off and hooks his arm around Parser's shoulders, steering him out of the bar.

Parser is still jittery on the way home, his leg bouncing. Holly reaches out and puts his hand on Parser's thigh, the same way he did before media day, and Parser settles under it. He's starting to associate Holly touching him with comfort.

"Not actually tired?" Holly asks, slanting him a sideways look.

"I mean. I am? Too tired to drink more, anyway, and like... I don't know, the guys are great, but we're about to be in it, you know? I feel like I need to breathe before we're up each other's asses all season." Parser fiddles with the hem of his shirt. "They won't be mad that I ducked out early, will they?"

"None of them are even going to notice," Holly says dryly. They're probably back at the bar griping about how they're in the preseason and none of them have gotten to fuck the rookie yet. Usually it starts in training camp. Holly has held them off for weeks, now.

Parser hangs around in the kitchen, eating cold takeout straight from the container. He can't keep still, leaning against the counter only to bounce up again, pacing back and forth next to the bar.

"You want to watch TV or something until you calm the fuck down?" Holly asks.

"Yeah," Parser says, around a mouthful of noodles. "Sounds good."

It's too late for there to be any games on, and Holly doesn't want to watch preseason highlights when they'll all be going over the tape tomorrow anyway. There's nothing on except for reruns of Law & Order, which somehow magically seems to be on TV at any time of the day or night. They settle in, Holly sprawled in his usual spot on the end of the couch, his feet propped up on the table, and Parser next to him.

It doesn't take long for the day to catch up with him. Parser is nodding off, jerking awake every time his head falls toward his chest. Holly puts his arm around Parser's shoulders and pulls him snug against his side again.

"Go to sleep," he says, ignoring the way Parser's breath hitches a little when Holly shifts on the couch and settles so that he's more comfortable with Parser tucked under his arm. Cautiously, Parser lets his head rest on Holly's shoulder. He's out before much longer. Holly keeps his hands to himself and leaves Parser to sleep on the couch when he goes to bed himself. When he wakes up the next morning, he's moved to his room, probably having woken up cold in the middle of the night.

Their next preseason game is against Seattle. Parser sleeps through the flight, out like a light with his head on Holly's shoulder. Thankfully, he doesn't drool, but Holly is starting to become used to being Parser's body pillow. He's also used to the jealous looks he gets from the rest of the team, especially from Blazer, who looks sometimes like he'd like to rip Parser out of his seat and fuck him right there on the floor of the plane.

They win, again. Seattle barely gives them a fight, struggling with their first-line center still out after back surgery. That's the thing about expansion teams; they're full of guys that are Holly and Sergei's age, not young talent, and they have the injuries to match. It took the Aces four seasons to claw their way up from the bottom, and then Holly's fucking knees derailed it for them last season. Parser is the edge they need to tip over the top, and it doesn't hurt to have a guy like Speedy in their bottom six who, true to his nickname, can cross the ice in a blink. Holly doesn't want to count his chickens, but he has a really good feeling about this year.

Being on the road also means that Parser rooms with him. Holly discovers that jittery, full of energy, and needing to be settled is just how Parser is after a game. He stops himself before he can get too deep in thought about how that's going to play out a little later in the season and flips on the TV, patting the bed for Parser to sit next to him, even though he has his own bed. Parser only hesitates for a second before he's climbing up and letting Holly put an arm around him. He does glance up at Holly's face once, an unasked question lingering in his expression, but he doesn't actually ask.

It's better, with Parser in the bed next to him. Holly can flirt his fingers under the hem of Parser's shirt, a light touch that could be accidental, and feel him shiver. Parser falls asleep with his head pillowed on Holly's chest, curled into Holly's side. Holly gets Parser's pants off but leaves his shirt on. He can't move too quickly, even though Parser is almost the one pushing up the timetable at this point. Holly works the blankets out from underneath him and climbs in beside him, arranging Parser so that he's tucked against Holly's side again, with Holly sprawled out on his back.

He wakes up the next morning exactly how he intended. Parser sits up with a jolt, having been wrapped around Holly like a damn octopus. He scrambles to the side of the bed and falls off with a thump and a yelp.

Holly, half-awake and with his hair almost certainly sticking up, sits up to blink down at him. "The hell, kid?"

"I, uh," Parser says, his eyes going straight to Holly's bare chest and, when he swings his legs out of bed, his equally bare thighs. "Um. Sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep."

"It's fine. I didn't feel like moving you, you're heavy. Coffee?" Holly pulls on a pair of sweatpants. He doesn't act any differently than any other morning they've spent in his apartment. Parser can't stop watching him. Holly can practically hear the wheels turning in his head from where he's standing.

"Yeah. Coffee," Parser says, belatedly.

The rest of the preseason goes almost dreamily well. They don't win every game, although Holly would've taken that if they got it, but they win enough to make the buzz around the team start to sound positive instead of apathetic and depressing. Everyone wants a piece of their star rookie, and Parser has to do more media in the preseason than anyone else. He handles it with grace, which Holly has come to expect from him. He has a natural camera face, and when he's on camera, it's like he switches on this wholesome, aw-shucks persona that the media just eats up.

Watching TV and cuddling after games becomes their routine. Neither one of them comment on it. Holly because he's working hard to make Parser feel safe around him, and Parser because his terror of being outed can be seen from space. He's stopped jumping so hard he falls off the couch when he wakes up snuggled against Holly's side, but he still goes pale and stammers out apologies and flees the room. Holly doesn't tell him yet that he has nothing to worry about. He has a timetable.

It seems like no time at all before they're through the preseason and into the regular season. The night of their home opener, it seems like Parser is going to burst out of his skin. He keeps bouncing on his toes, even after he gets his skates on. Holly taps him on the ass with his stick, leaning in to knock their helmets together right before they go down the tunnel.

"Keep your head in it." Holly squeezes his arm for good measure, tapping him again when Parser nods.

"Yeah," he says. "Yeah, I'm okay. This is okay."

"You're gonna do great, kid," Holly says. "Go on out for your adoring public."

Their first game of the season is against the Bruins. They're going to be a hard contest; they're deeper at center than the Aces, especially with Holly on the second line. Having Parser skate on his wing makes up for the fact that Holly isn't as fast as he used to be, and Parser gets his first regular season assist in his first regular season game, a deflection off Holly's stick that goes between the goalie's blocker and the pipe, squeezing in through such a tight spot that Holly swears it should have left a scuff mark.

What's almost better than that is watching Parser and the Bruins' baby rookie, Blanchard, trying to out-chirp each other. They get creative, and Holly finds himself staring at Merrin across the faceoff circle and trying desperately to keep a straight face while they jostle and snipe at each other within earshot.

"That stick would be more useful up your ass," Blanchard says.

"Aw, sweetheart, that's second date talk," Parser shoots back, without even missing a beat. He fucking winks. Holly manages to win the faceoff because Merrin's eyes flick over to them at Blanchard's indignant squawk.

They both sound like they're having more fun trying to get each other to crack than they are playing the damn hockey game. Holly finds himself grabbing the back of Parser's neck and shaking him a little when they're sitting on the bench.

"Don't let that kid rile you up," he says in Parser's ear. He's not even sure the kid is listening. His eyes are half-closed and he's watching Speedy and Billy tear up the ice, only to get rubbed out by the Bruins defense before they can get the puck past the blue line.

"Who, Miss Blanche DuBois out there? He only wishes he was as cool as me." Parser tosses his head and mimes flicking hair out of his face. His eyes are bright, coiled tension radiating off of him. It's like he's feeding off the ice.

"He tried to spear you in the balls," Holly points out.

"He's flirting. It would be cute if it wasn't so tragic," Parser says. His voice is airy, like anything Blanchard does couldn't possibly be his concern. Then he seems to realize what he said and turns a dull, embarrassed red, finally shutting his mouth.

"Remember to pay attention to the puck, not your pigtail-pulling little boyfriend." Holly bumps his hip, then stands when the coach taps him on the shoulder. On Holly's other side, Eddie is biting his lips trying not to laugh.

They win the game. Parser's face is lit up like he's a thousand watt lightbulb. He throws both of his arms around Sasha in a huge hug when it's his turn to thank him after the game. Sasha, grumpy bastard that he can be, only gives him an indulgent pat on the head before nudging him off toward the tunnel.

Holly catches him after the media. All his usual jittery energy is there in the way he can't stop moving, roving around the locker room and giving hugs to anyone who stands still long enough. Everyone behaves themselves, though Holly can see Blazer's hands hovering over his ass in a herculean effort to keep himself from groping it.

"Come on kid, time to get home. We have an early morning tomorrow."

"Yessir, Captain Holly," Parser says with a mocking salute. Holly stares him down until he shuffles his feet, a little sheepish. "I mean, sure, Holly. Let me get my stuff."

They sit on the couch and watch a movie after they eat, as their routine goes. Parser's excess energy bleeds out of him quick, and it isn't long before he's nodding off against Holly's shoulder. Once he's definitely out of it, Holly eases him slowly down on the couch until he's laying on Holly's thigh, instead, his cheek pillowed on the muscle. Holly drops his hand to Parser's head and pets his hair, slowly. With his other hand, he thumbs through his phone until he has an incognito window open, and looks up some porn of pretty blond boys getting railed until they cry. It's on mute, so Parser won't wake up, but it does the job of getting his dick nice and hard.

He gives it about an hour. Once he starts to feel impatient with how long he's been hard with nothing touching his dick, he closes the browser window, sets his phone aside, and shakes Parser's shoulder.

"Hey. Kid, wake up."

"Mmm," Parser murmurs, turning his face against Holly's thigh. "Five more minutes."

"Parser, listen, I uh." Holly tries to put as much embarrassed uncertainty in his voice as he knows how. "I need you to sit up."

Parser's eyes open at that, and Holly feels the moment he realizes what a compromising position he's in, with his face inches from Holly's hard-on. He sits bolt upright, his eyes wide. Holly can tell he's trying very, very hard not to stare at Holly's dick tenting his sweatpants.

"I," he stutters out, licking his lips as his eyes dart back up to Holly's face. "I, uh, I didn't- that wasn't, um, I'm sorry man, I'll go to bed."

"You don't have to freak out, I'm the one with the problem here." Holly gives him a little encouraging smile, gesturing down at his dick. "I didn't meant to either, it's just, you know. It's been a while."

He feels the silence get weightier as he looks away from Parser's face, rubbing at the back of his neck, trying to put off a picture of resigned embarrassment. He's had enough time getting to know Parser that he's pretty damn sure this is going to work. There's always the chance it won't, but the seed will still be there even if Parser does run out of the living room again.

"You're. I mean, I didn't want to ask." Parser's eyes are huge in his face when Holly glances back at him. His fingers are clenched on the couch, white-knuckled. He's so afraid. If Holly can gentle him through this, he'll have him.

"Yeah, good call. You've gotta keep it on the down low in this league, you know? But, yeah, it doesn't much matter to me, and... well, damn, kid. You're gorgeous and you play filthy hockey. You fall asleep breathing on my dick and it's gonna do something." Holly smiles crookedly. His boner has gone down a little, but he still has a good semi going, and Parser's face is going a very nice shade of red.

"Oh," Parser breathes. He swallows hard, but at least he doesn't look like he's going to bolt anymore.

"You should go to bed, and I'll, uh..." Holly makes a jerking off gesture. "Yeah?"

It irritates him to have to offer Parser so many outs. Holly would usually have a rookie on his knees by now, rubbing his dick all over his lips and then pushing into his mouth. But Parser needs a delicate touch if they're going to keep him playing that filthy hockey Holly likes so much. If they're going to keep winning games.

"I could," Parser says, and then stops. He scoots closer to Holly again, pressing their knees together. Holly keeps himself from laughing at how juvenile it is. "I could help you out? I mean, since I kind of caused it in the first place and all."

"Yeah?" Holly lets himself smile, slow and dark, watching Parser suck his lip into his mouth as he tracks the change in Holly's expression. "You know you don't have to."

"I want to." It's too quick, Parser's words tumbling over themselves as he answers. Parser doesn't seem to notice how desperately eager it makes him sound. "I kind of, um, started thinking about you. After that game in Seattle."

Fucking score one for the long game, Holly thinks to himself. Out loud, he says, "I'm not going to turn you down if you want to suck my dick," and leans back on the couch, spreading his knees. Parser's eyes go straight to his dick again, and he slides down off the couch to his knees, crawling in between Holly's legs. His eyes look stormy blue as he looks up at Holly through his blond lashes. Holly thinks about how red his mouth is going to be after he's done, and his cock starts to fill out all over again.

"Go for it," he says, gesturing to his lap, and waits for Parser to make the next move.

It takes the kid a minute to work himself up to doing anything, even with Holly practically shoving his crotch in Parser's face. His fingers creep up Holly's thighs cautiously, his throat bobbing as he swallows, until they hook under the waistband of Holly's pants, tugging them down. Holly lifts his hips up, helping, watching Parser's expression as his dick is bared, bobbing up against his stomach.

"Holy shit," Parser says, staring at it like he's transfixed. "You're really—wow."

"You don't have to flatter me, I'm an old man. Come on, Parser, you know what you're doing, right?" Holly ruffles his fingers through Parser's hair and leaves his hand there, not gripping or tugging, just a weight on the top of the kid's head.

"I've done this before," Parser shoots back, the same indignant tone Holly has heard from at least half a dozen rookies when he questioned their prowess sucking cock.

Parser isn't like most of those rookies, though, in that he doesn't wait for another chirp before he gets down to it. He leans in and gets his mouth over the head of Holly's cock without any more hesitation, and Holly's fingers tighten on his head just a little as he relaxes back into the couch, his eyes half-open to watch Parser's pretty mouth stretched open around him. It's as good as he thought it would look, Parser glancing up at him while his lips are pink and wet, pulled tight, with still a little spit slipping from the corners of his mouth.

"Yeah, that's good," Holly murmurs, petting Parser's hair a little. It makes the kid go pink all over, deepening into red as he takes in more of Holly's cock before backing off and sucking him down again. He only goes about halfway, but Holly isn't ready to force him down further just yet. His mouth is slick and hot, and he's sucking almost as hard as Holly likes it. He can lean back and enjoy this for a while, see how long Parser will last before his jaw gets tired.

He tries, bobbing up and down on Holly's dick with his hands clutching at Holly's thighs. It's not enough to get Holly to come, but it is enough to get Parser's mouth and chin covered in spit, sliding down Holly's shaft to drip over his balls. Parser looks up at him more frequently now, like he's trying to figure out why Holly hasn't come yet. It's obvious that Parser is used to blowing another teenage boy, one that'll shoot down his mouth after just a few minutes of sucking. Finally, Holly tugs Parser off his cock, rubbing his thumb over the swollen, wet lower lip.

"You okay to keep going? I know I can last a while." Holly makes it sound apologetic. He also dips his thumb into Parser's mouth and presses on the tip of his tongue, rubbing just a little.

"I want to get you off." Parser sounds like he's just on the right side of getting petulant. Holly thinks about what he can do later in the season, if Parser really gets bratty on him, and feels his dick throb. "I've just never—"

"Never what?" Holly asks, slipping his thumb out of Parser's mouth and petting his hair again. The kid loves that, leaning into his hand. "You told me you've done this before."

"Yeah, I mean, I have, just not with someone who's... you know, cut."

Holly slides his hand down to cup the back of Parser's neck and squeeze, using his other hand to cradle the kid's cheek, holding his head in place until his eyes flutter back open and look up at Holly. He looks nervous but defiant, like he's daring Holly to say something about his lack of experience.

"Learned some tricks you can't use, huh?" Holly asks, cracking a smile. "It's okay. You just have to take it deeper, let the pressure from your throat do the work."

Parser leans forward against his hands, and Holly lets him go, giving him a little hum of encouragement when he gets his mouth back to where it does the most good. He sucks a little harder this time, before he starts trying to force himself down further, and the head of Holly's dick bumps against his soft palate. He chokes, drooling on Holly's cock as he pulls back.

"Go slow," Holly says, his hand on the back of Parser's neck keeping him from pulling off completely. Parser looks up at him, his stormy eyes a little reddened now. It makes the color stand out. Holly could look at that all day.

The kid listens—coachable—going a little bit slower this time as he tries his best to take in more. It would probably be easier on him if Holly didn't have such a thick cock, but he's determined, his pink lips sealed tight around the shaft and his eyes squeezed shut as he sinks down again.

"Swallow around it." Holly lets a little rasp enter his voice, more encouragement, and grunts when Parser takes his direction, his throat constricting around the head of Holly's cock. He manages to do it twice before he pulls back, breathing hard through his nose. When he tries again he gags, squirming around on his knees and coughing when Holly finally lets him up. He scratches his fingers over Parser's scalp and strokes his cheekbone, settling him, shushing him as he hacks into his fist before turning back to Holly and cautiously swallowing him down again.

It goes on like that, the minutes ticking by with Parser on his knees, Holly enjoying the clumsy efforts at deepthroating. He's managing to get most of Holly's dick in his mouth, choking and gagging on it, tears streaming from his face. His movements are stilted and he keeps having to pull off, and at this rate Holly is never going to come, so he wraps his hand around the wet shaft of his cock and jacks it into Parser's mouth, his free hand tightening in Parser's hair to hold him in place.

"Just suck on it, that's it," he says, his hand making slick noises as his knuckles bump against Parser's lips. "Look up at me, yeah?"

Parser opens his eyes, lashes thick with tears, and looks up at Holly while he grunts and comes, shooting into Parser's mouth. The kid is good at swallowing, at least, not a drop escaping from the pink seal of his lips around the head of Holly's dick. Holly cups Parser's chin with his spit-wet hand and holds him there, letting him swallow around the shaft until Holly starts to get soft and can feel the ache of oversensitivity in his balls. He pulls Parser off gently, rubbing his thumb over Parser's lips again.

The kid looks like he's at a cross between devastated and desperately horny, his hands clenched tight on Holly's thighs and his dick visible in his jeans. Holly resists the urge to press on the bulge with the ball of his foot. He's already pushed Parser enough tonight, and a little light humiliation is going to have to wait until later in the game.

"Come here," he says instead, and pulls up his shirt as Parser climbs into his lap. It doesn't take him long to get Parser's jeans open and his cock in hand. It's too dry, so he lifts the palm of his hand to Parser's lips. "Lick it wet, kiddo."

"Jesus," Parser says—practically whimpers—before doing what he's told and running his tongue all over Holly's palm, in between his fingers. He takes two of them in his mouth and hollows his cheeks, sucking.

"Show-off." Holly tries to say it like he's being fond. He starts to jerk Parser off again, letting the kid's hips move and push the head of his cock all over Holly's abs. He's leaking, precome wet at the tip from how turned on he is, and he pitches forward with his face tucked into the side of Holly's neck, smearing his wet mouth over the beat of Holly's pulse and choking down needy little whines while Holly tugs at his dick.

"Holly, Holly, holy shit, fuck, I'm gonna—"

"Yeah," Holly says, breathing it into Parser's hair. "Yeah, come on, give it up."

Parser makes a little noise like he can't catch his breath and does, coming all over Holly's abs and his hand. He keeps fucking the circle of Holly's fist after he's come, and Holly obliges him, squeezing out the last drops of jizz until Parser squirms and reaches down to push his hand away.

"Way to make a mess," Holly says dryly, looking down at his abs. Parser springs up from the couch and dashes for the hallway, and Holly doesn't have time to wonder if he's scared the kid off before he's back with a damp washcloth, wiping his come off Holly's stomach. He's red in the face and avoiding Holly's eyes, so Holly grabs his chin, tilting his face up. "Hey."

"Hey," Parser says, his gaze dipping down to Holly's still bare stomach. "Um, so. That."

"That was great, kid, thanks. You're not bad."

Parser's mouth twitches for a second into a frown. He's competitive, that Holly knows. He pushes himself in practice, in games, in preseason. It would make sense he pushes himself here, too.

"I've only ever sucked one dude's dick," Parser says in a rush. "I'm not an expert or anything."

"Hey, hey, no, that's not what I meant." Holly starts petting at Parser's hair again, remembering how much he liked that, and is rewarded when the kid slumps down on the couch next to him again. "You're good, really. I liked it, you got me off. Pretty sure you got a mouthful of come that says I wasn't faking it."

"Uh, yeah." Parser sounds like he might be embarrassed at how direct Holly is. Holly figures he'll get over that.

"I mean, if I'm only the second dick you've sucked, nobody's going to expect you to be the dick-sucking champion supreme." Holly gets a little smile out of the kid for that joke. "I've been in the league a while, I've had a decent amount of experience to compare it to."

"You mean like... other players?" Parser is suitably distracted from feeling bad about his cocksucking talents, for the time being, and this is a good chance to ease him into the idea of other guys wanting him, so Holly will take it.

"Sure. It's all on the DL, you know, but we find each other. The rules are pretty simple; no strings, no tattling to WAGs, and if you get found out by the press you're on your own. Otherwise, I mean, when you're stuck with each other on a long roadie, it's nice to have someone around for a quick handy. That's mostly all guys are good for unless they're actually into it. Like you."

"Wait, there are other guys on the team?"

"You know what, that's the other rule. Don't ask about anyone else." Holly watches Parser turn red, deflate, and mutter an apology, letting him stew for a second before he adds, "But if there was ever a guy to teach you the right way to suck dick, it'd be your center."

"Wha— Tanner? Really?" Parser sounds blindsided, his eyes wide.

"Like any guy is going to turn down you sucking his dick. But yeah, Tanner can give you some pointers." Holly watches the information sink in and is treated to Parser's pink tongue coming out to wet his bottom lip, slowly, like he's thinking about getting Tanner's dick in his mouth, too.

"You don't... I mean, you don't mind, because no strings, right?" Parser sounds like he's trying to put up a little bit of a front, sound more confident than he actually is.

"Come on, you don't want to be tied down to an old man. You're young, you should be getting out there. What's that thing the youth say nowadays, living your best life? Not that I'm going to cry if you want to give me another blowjob."

Parser laughs, startled, and cuddles up to Holly, tucking himself into Holly's side with his face in Holly's neck again.

"Yeah," he says. "Yeah. Holy shit."

"Go to sleep," Holly says, ruffling his hair again. "We have skate in the morning."

That gets a groan out of him, and Parser finally peels himself away from Holly and goes to his room. Holly pulls up his sweatpants, still bunched around his thighs, and heads for the shower. He's got smug seeping out of his pores, and he can't wait to see Tanner's reaction when the kid comes onto him. If he does. Parser still seems scared shitless of getting outed, and that's something. Maybe Holly will have to get the ball rolling, there. For the time being, he has his foot in the door. Parser is just as easy for it as he thought, and he took to the suggestion of slutting around a little like it was actually a relief. Holly towels off and slips under the blankets thinking about how little work he actually had to do on the kid. He'd just fallen right into Holly's lap. It won't be too much longer until he can get the kid to spread his legs and actually fuck him for real.

Then the fun will start.


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning, it's like the first time Holly let Parser wake up in bed with him all over again. He's skittish, barely spending time in the same room even when they're at home. Holly lets him have his moment. As he keeps telling himself, and the other guys when they pester him, this is a long con. Patience is key.

Still, after they're six games into the regular season and Parser hasn't even come to sit on the couch with him again, Holly is getting a little impatient. That night, as Parser makes to grab his dinner plate and escape into his bedroom, Holly catches his arm.

"Hey," he says, keeping his voice soft. "Did I do something?"

Parser's eyes go wide and he swallows. "What?"

"I've just noticed you'd rather do anything else than spend time in the same room as me," Holly tells him, letting a little bit of accusation bleed into his tone. "I thought we were cool?"

"Yeah!" Parser says quickly. Too quickly. "Yeah, I mean, of course we're cool. I'm—I'm just tired, you know? We didn't travel this much in the Q."

Holly lets that response sit silently between them. He's never had kids—that he knows of—and he doesn't plan to, but he's had a lot of practice perfecting cool, stern stares that tell the object of them that Holly doesn't buy any of their bullshit.

Parser deflates, blowing out a sigh and slumping a little. "Sorry. I guess I was avoiding you."

"Everything okay?" Holly asks, and because this is about reinforcement, he reaches out to brush some of Parser's hair behind his ear. It's getting a little long, curling out from underneath his snapback.

Parser flushes at the touch. Holly hasn't let up on those since Parser has been avoiding him, and it still seems to make him react the same way.

"It's just my damage," Parser mumbles. "I didn't mean to take it out on you."

"Hey." Holly keeps his voice soft, and uses his fingers to tip Parser's chin up. Slowly, because the point isn't to scare him, Holly leans in and kisses him. He does it slow, easing his mouth over Parser's. He takes the plate of food from Parser's hands and sets it aside, still kissing him, before stepping close enough to take him by the hip and pull him in.

Parser responds like a man in the desert dying of thirst, crowding into Holly's space. He tries to smash his mouth into Holly's, the way teenagers kiss before they figure out the meaning of subtlety. Holly uses the hand he still has on Parser's face to grip his chin a little tighter, keep him from grinding their teeth against his lips. Parser is shivering under his hands when he finally pulls away.

"I still want to do that, if it's okay with you," he says, his voice so soft and coaxing he nearly doesn't recognize himself. Parser is skittish because of Zimmermann, and because unlike most of the rookies they've bent over, Parser knows he likes dick and knows what that means for him in this league. He has to be extra careful.

"I didn't want to stop," Parser answers, his voice cracking a little. "I just didn't think—I thought—"

"You thought it was too good to be true?" Holly asks. He's amused. Of all the things for Parser to think.

"Yeah." Parser laughs a little, but it's a little mean and obviously directed at himself. "God, I'm such a fucking asshole. You must think I'm like, the worst."

"Nah," Holly says. "Blazer is the worst."

They both laugh, because even if Blazer hasn't gotten his hands on him yet, Parser is familiar enough by now with what an asshole he can be both on and off the ice. When that guy is on your team, you love him, but you still know that everyone else hates him.

"So, um," Parser says, coloring a little brighter. "I could… get a little more practice? If you want."

He's looking up at Holly through blond lashes, biting at his lower lip until it's nice and pink, and Holly thinks he's actually trying to be seductive. It's kind of cute, in a way that just makes Holly want to ruin him.

"Yeah, I want," he says, and they go to the living room so Parser can settle on his knees between Holly's thighs.

That seems to cure some of Parser's skittishness. He's back to hanging all over Holly every chance he gets, snuggling up to him on the couch at home and finding excuses to sit in his lap when the team goes out. Parser is affectionate, and he's starved for it, that much is plain. Holly barely has to say anything to get Parser on his knees, either because he's desperate for the praise Holly gives him or desperate for someone to touch his dick, Holly isn't sure.

He's got to get a move on, though, before Blazer loses all his patience and ruins the whole fucking thing. He can't keep Parser's pretty mouth to himself forever, and he hasn't even gotten a chance at his ass, yet. As impatient as the rest of the team is, Holly's own patience is starting to wear a little thin.

So it's serendipitous in more ways than one when they're on an eastern Canada road trip and Tanner scores a hatty against Montreal. They've moved Parser up to his wing in actual games now, not just line rushes, and the last goal of the hat trick is a shortie, Parser and Tanner streaking up the ice like a pair of speed skaters, the give-and-go too fast for either Montreal's defense or their goalie to track. Parser gives them a wicked shot fake and dishes it to Tanner, who puts it five-hole, and Parser crashes into him on the end boards, wild delight on his face.

Holly sidles up beside him as Parser is taking off his pads. Tanner is surrounded by the media scrum, grinning like an idiot, and Parser's face keeps pulling into a wider and wider smile whenever he looks over at it.

"I think your liney deserves a reward," he says, his voice low and unmistakably seductive. 

The tips of Parser's ears turn pink. His gaze darts wildly around the room, but nobody is looking at them. Holly turns them enough so that he can slide his arm around Parser's waist and pull him back against Holly's chest, his lips actually brushing Parser's ear now when he speaks.

"I know he'll like it if you offer. You've gotten so good, I shouldn't be the only one who enjoys it. And like I said, he can give you a tip or two."

"You think?" Parser's voice sounds a little high and reedy, like he's not sure if he should panic or not. "I don't—"

"I can come with you," Holly says, making it sound like a thoughtful offer. "Keep an eye out for you. If you want."

That stuns Parser into silence, and when Holly pulls away enough to see his face, he has a little bit of a glazed look in his eyes, like he hadn't considered the possibility and now it's all he can think about. Holly doesn't know yet whether he likes being watched, but it'll only go better for all of them if he does.

"I wouldn't, like, leave you hanging or anything," Parser says earnestly, and Holly nearly gives him a friendly little grope as a reward. Instead, he brushes his lips over Parser's neck, letting his beard scrape, and gets a delightful little shudder.

"Good. Let's pay a visit to his room later. Don't get too drunk."

He leaves Parser in his stall with a swat on his ass, which is a less remarkable thing for him to do than whispering seduction in his ear. It still makes Parser jolt and turn pinker, and the sound of the impact turns heads. Holly glares at them until they turn their heads right back to what they were doing.

He does text Tanner, to make sure he knows what's going on and isn't going to rebuff the kid because he thinks he's supposed to be all Holly's.

_Kid is going to want to suck your dick_ , he sends, while Tanner is still surrounded by cameras. They're back on the team bus by the time his pocket buzzes with Tanner's reply, and he searches him out with his eyes.

The text message reads _???_ and Tanner's face is confused. When he finally makes eye contact with Holly, he starts tapping something else out on his phone.

_Me first?_ the text reads, and now Holly understands why Tanner looks confused. Last season, when it had been Billy in the middle, Tanner didn't get to touch him until the rest of the team had run the gamut.

_1C now_ , Holly texts back. _Comes with privileges_.

Tanner grins at him over the seats and goes back to doing whatever he was doing on his phone.

The team does go out as a group, raucous and trashily drunk to celebrate Tanner's hatty and the victory over Montreal. They're 3-5-0 through their first eight games, so it feels like a celebration isn't just warranted, but needed.

Parser, obedient as he ever is, doesn't get very drunk. He has two beers and a shot of whatever Eddie bought for the table, then sneaks looks at Holly for the rest of the evening. Tanner is doing a pretty good job of pretending like he doesn't know what's coming, but Holly catches him looking at Parser with hunger after about his third shot and decides it's time for him to collect the rookie to head out.

"Come on, Parser, back the hotel," he says, nudging Parser up from where he's once again draped all over Holly's lap.

"But I'm not even drunk yet," Parser protests, with a little smirk lingering around his lips that tells Holly he's acting, too. He's not bad at it.

"Last time you got drunk I had to carry your ass to the Uber," Eli shoots back from halfway down the table.

"That was one time!" Parser complains, but he lets Holly pull him out of the booth and steer him out the door.

Parser is wiggly in the back of the car, like the anticipation is getting to him and he can't sit still. Holly takes advantage, looping his arm around Parser's shoulders and pulling him closer. They're shoved up against each other in the backseat, and Holly's hand slowly creeps down, outside the driver's line of sight, and slides into Parser's pants.

"Holly—" Parser hisses, suddenly stiff as a board, his eyes fixed out the front windshield.

"Shh," Holly whispers in his ear. "You don't want the driver to hear."

There's music on in the car, and it only barely covers the hitched little gasps Parser is making through his clenched teeth as Holly rubs his dick through his underwear, getting him worked up until he's squirming and panting and flushed pink down to his collarbones. They pull up to the hotel and Parser stumbles out of the car, dazed, leaning into Holly like he's much drunker than he is as they walk inside.

"That was kind of risky," he says, when they're in the elevator on the way up to their floor. He's got his eyes fixed on his own reflection in the elevator doors, but he doesn't jump when Holly slides up behind him like he had in the dressing room.

"Who's going to believe what some random Uber driver says?" Holly asks. He gropes at the front of Parser's pants again, relishing the little noise Parser makes in the back of his throat. "Besides, you liked it. I saw the way you blushed when I said I'd be watching, too. You want it."

Parser's breath is ragged again. He presses into Holly's hand, his eyes fluttering shut, and leans his weight into Holly like his knees have gone weak.

"I've never—" he says, swallowing when it comes out as a croak. "I've never done it with anyone watching."

"But you like it," Holly repeats, because the point of this is positive reinforcement.

"Yeah," Parser says roughly, after a beat of silence. "Yeah, I guess I do."

"I like it, too," Holly says. "I like the idea of getting to watch someone else touch you. Tanner's not bad on the eyes, himself. You're going to look pretty together."

Parser's whole face is red, now, as the elevator dings for their floor and Holly releases him abruptly. He sways, off-balance since Holly was supporting most of his weight, and then staggers after him.

Tanner should have waited a little while after they left before bouncing out himself, so they stop by their own room. It seems like a better place for them to do this anyway, since Holly thinks Tanner is still rooming with Sergei, and Holly doesn't want to add that element yet. He shoots Tanner a text telling him to come to their room and kicks off his shoes, sprawling on his back in bed.

Parser fidgets. His shoes and socks get tossed in the corner and he rambles around the room aimlessly. Holly heaves himself up, watching Parser's progress.

"Come here, you're making me tired," he says finally, scooting forward to the edge of the bed. "Would you feel better if we just went ahead and got started?"

Parser hesitates, his eyes flicking from Holly's face to where his pants are stretched tight over his crotch. He wants it, Holly can tell. He's just still nervous. Holly bites back a sigh.

"Baby," he says, gentling his tone as much as he's capable. He beckons, and Parser steps closer, in between Holly's thighs. Holly slips his hands under Parser's shirt and settles them on his waist, fingers dipping into Parser's pants. "You don't have to be ashamed of what you want. You're gorgeous—who wouldn't want to show you off?"

Holly pushes up Parser's shirt and puts his mouth against Parser's abs, licking and biting at the skin, until he's panting and weak-kneed, clutching at Holly's shoulder's again. He's so fucking easy, it's criminal. He just needs someone to touch him and tell him how pretty he is, and he's gagging for it.

"What if it gets weird?" Parser asks, his voice shaky. "We just got put on a line together, I can't make it weird—"

"You're not going to make it weird." Holly would laugh if it wouldn't scare Parser off. "How could it hurt? Haven't you ever heard anyone talking about line chemistry?"

Parser is the one who laughs. "I'm pretty sure that's not what they mean."

"Look who knows so much about the league all of the sudden," Holly says, and gives in to an urge he's had for a while, pinching one of Parser's little pink nipples and twisting it. Parser jerks with a surprised sound in the back of his throat, his mouth falling open and his back arching to shamelessly push into Holly's hands. "Mm, yeah, that's nice. Let me hear how much you love that."

"Holly," Parser gasps out. His fingers are tight on Holly's shoulders, and he keeps pushing into the touch even when he flinches. Holly didn't think his dick could get any harder, but it looks like their little rookie is a natural born pain slut.

It's probably a good thing Tanner knocks on the door before Holly can keep going long enough to make the kid cry. It would be pretty, but it might also be too much.

"Shh, you're fine," Holly says, when Parser jumps at the knock. He leaves Parser swaying on his feet and looking conspicuously rumpled to answer the door. "Here for the after party?"

"Hey, you invited me," Tanner says, catching the cue from Holly. He walks into the room and makes a big show of raising his eyebrows at Parser's disheveled state, looking between him and Holly. "Did I interrupt something?"

"Not interrupting, more like… getting here right on time," Holly said, watching the red flush creep back over Parser's face as his eyes dart between his captain and his liney.

"Ohhh, shit, it's going to be that kind of an after party," Tanner says, letting a sleazy grin take his face over. "Is that right, Parser?"

It's actually pretty amazing how Parser does it, Holly reflects, as he watches Parser visibly shake off the nervousness and pull bravado around him like a cloak. He hooks his thumbs in his jeans and cocks his hip and grins.

"Holly says you deserve something nice after that hattie," he says.

"And you're 'something nice?'" Tanner asks. He crosses the room to crowd Parser up against the dresser, his hands planted on either side of Parser's hips.

"I can be nice," Parser says, sounding vaguely offended. "I'm a nice guy."

Tanner leans in until they're almost kissing, and Holly watches Parser's eyes go big and round, like he still hadn't convinced himself this was actually happening and isn't sure what to do now that it is.

"Why don't you prove it, rookie?" Tanner backs up enough to sit down on the bed, letting his knees splay open in blatant invitation.

Parser takes the invitation, sinking down between Tanner's knees the way he does for Holly at home. Tanner doesn't tease him the way Holly does—he unbuckles his own belt and tugs his own pants down over his thighs. Parser is blushing again when he leans forward to take Tanner into his mouth.

Holly half-wishes they would have had a chance to chat about this, just the two of them, when Tanner immediately puts a hand on the back of Parser's head and forces him down until he chokes. But it turns out that Tanner is smarter than Holly gives him credit for, letting off the pressure so Parser can pull off and cough into his fist.

"Sorry, sorry, shit," Tanner says. "I didn't know it was like, your first time or whatever."

"It's not," Parser protests hotly. His voice sounds fucked already. "I'm just, you know, not a fucking porn star."

"You don't have to be a porn star to figure out how to deepthroat," Tanner says dryly, and Holly knows intimately that if there's one thing that gets Parser going, it's a challenge.

"Not everyone can be an expert cocksucker," Parser snipes back. "If you're so picky, then show me how to do it."

"Alright," Tanner says easily, like that wasn't the plan all along. "I'll go slower so it's easier."

For a second, Parser looks like he might mouth off some more, but when Holly settles on the other bed to watch them, his eyes go to the movement and he seems to think better of it. Maybe this would look different if it was just the two of them, Tanner and Parser. Maybe they'd end up making an actual thing of it. With Holly here, it's only ever about the team, which is how it's supposed to be.

"So, like, open the back of your throat like you're yawning," Tanner instructs, pushing against the back of Parser's head until he gets his mouth on Tanner's dick again. "Then just hold it open."

It's clear Parser tries. His eyes water when Tanner pushes in, and he manages to take Tanner's cock a little bit deeper than he's ever managed Holly's before he gags.

"Okay, yeah. Hold it there, just swallow and then open your throat back up." Tanner's breath is coming heavy, but he keeps his voice steady. Parser is struggling a little against the grip Tanner has on his hair, pushing at Tanner's thighs, but Tanner doesn't let him up. Finally, he chokes down another inch of Tanner's dick.

"Don't panic, you can still breathe," Tanner tells him, when he starts to struggle harder. "Keep your throat open. I'm not that big."

Holly keeps his little snort to himself. Tanner is so chill that sometimes Holly suspects he's going to have to run interference for the kid's piss test, and this is no different. He has Parser's fingers digging into his thighs, the kid's face red and his cheeks wet with tears, and he still holds him down like it's nothing, watching his dick slide deeper into that pink mouth.

"You've almost got it all," he says, a little bit of an encouraging croon creeping into his voice. Holly wonders if this was what it was like last season, when Blazer had pretty much thrown Billy at Tanner and told him to teach the kid how to suck cock properly. "Just a little bit more, keep swallowing. You've got this, fuck. Feels good."

Parser stops struggling against Tanner's grip, though he's still clutching Tanner's thighs with white knuckles and his shoulders are tense. He's making little gagging sounds that go straight to Holly's dick, but fuck, he's trying. It's hot how eager he is to choke on dick, even when his body is fighting him.

"Yeah, yeah," Tanner tells him, rubbing his hand over Parser's hair like encouragement. "I'm gonna start moving now. Stay right like that."

Parser chokes the first time Tanner rolls his hips up, noisy and messy, spit spilling out of the corners of his mouth. He's going to look wrecked when Tanner is done with him, especially since Tanner doesn't miss a beat, just pulls back and thrusts in again. He's going slow, but he's still fucking Parser's throat, and it's clear how hard Parser is struggling to take it.

"You're doing so good," Holly says, in case that helps. "Look at you. Better by the minute."

It does seem to help. Parser's fingers relax a little. The next time Tanner thrusts his hips, shoving his cock in deep, Parser swallows it down and it slides in easy.

" _That's_ it, just like that. Now you've got it." Tanner speeds up, though, making it hard for Parser to adjust and keep pace. Holly wonders whether Tanner is going hard on him on purpose, or if he just doesn't care about going easy. Well, at least he's getting a taste of that now, and not later when Blazer gets ahold of him.

"Fuck, fuck. Jesus rookie, your _mouth_." Tanner lets his head fall back, one hand on Parser's head and the other propping him up on the bed. Parser has stopped trying to pull back, his throat working and spit running down his chin as he just sits there and takes it.

Tanner grunts that he's going to come faster than Holly expects. He holds Parser down for that too, coming so deep in his throat he probably can't even taste it. At least, not at first, until Parser gags and chokes and come dribbles down his chin.

He pulls off to breathe, red-faced and gasping like he's just been bag skated. His face is wet with tears, spit, and come, and he looks a little off when he looks up at Tanner, a wrinkle between his eyebrows.

Tanner must see it, because he bends down and gives the rookie a sweet little kiss right on the mouth. 

"Thanks, kid. Hell of a reward. Might have to keep in mind that this is how you like to let your lineys know they've done good." He winks at Parser as he pulls back and does up his pants, getting up from the bed. "Thanks for the party invitation, Holly. Let me know if you'll be doing it again."

"Sure thing," Holly says, and lets Tanner leave with a friendly smack on the ass. He wants to have some time to calm Parser down, maybe get some himself. The kid hasn't come yet, and despite the fact that he still doesn't quite know what to make of what just happened, Holly can see him pressing his hand against his crotch in a way that means he's trying not to just come in his pants.

Parser still hasn't moved when the door shuts behind Tanner, so Holly gets up from the bed he's sitting on and moves to the other one, settling down on the corner. He threads his fingers through Parser's hair and strokes through the sweaty strands.

"You okay, kid?"

"Kind of intense," Parser mumbles, catching one side of his lip between his teeth and chewing on it for a minute. "You didn't tell me I've been doing it wrong."

"You haven't been doing it _wrong_ ," Holly says, desperately grateful for teenagers and their dumb pride in their sexual prowess.

"But you've been going easy on me," he says. "You told me to take it deeper the first time I blew you and then you let off. You like it better like that."

"Christ, Parser, you want me to get a little more forceful with you, I can make that happen." Holly swipes the trail of sticky come still on Parser's chin with his thumb, then sticks his thumb in Parser's mouth and watches his cheeks hollow around it. "Some other time though, maybe. I'm not sure you can last through getting your face fucked again without coming in your pants."

Parser's blush flames again, and his eyes skitter away from Holly to the bedspread. He snatches his hand away from the front of his pants like he's been caught doing something wrong.

"Hey, you liked it," Holly says, tugging at the back of Parser's neck until he gets the picture and climbs up into Holly's lap, the way they do on the couch. "Don't be worried about liking something. How many times do I have to say that?"

"Maybe a few more," Parser says into Holly's shoulder. He's clinging to Holly's shoulders like he's off-balance. Holly loops one arm around his waist and drops the other hand to his firm little ass, pulling him in tighter until he can feel Parser's boner against his stomach.

"I bet you want to come." Holly squeezes his ass and Parser's hips jerk against him. "Don't you?"

"Yeah, please." Parser shifts his hips again but Holly moves back, and Parser whines at him.

"Impatient. I'll get you off, don't worry. Just thought we might try something new." Holly pulls at Parser's shirt until the kid strips it off and throws it aside, then does the same at the waistband of his pants. When Parser is naked, Holly gets up from the bed and grabs his chin firmly to tilt it up. Parser's breath comes in fast, a sharp little gasp. "Yeah, you do like it when I push you around."

"Didn't really know," Parser answers him, the last part of it getting lost as Holly kisses him, biting at his swollen lower lip until Parser presses his whole body against Holly's like he's trying to climb in through his skin.

"That's why I like you so much, Parser," Holly says as he pulls back. He shifts his hand from Parser's chin to the back of his neck and pushes, bending him over until his elbows are propped on the bed.

"Holly?" Parser feels a little tense under his hand, now, and if Holly didn't think before that nobody had ever gotten a dick in that sweet little ass, this only makes it seem more likely.

"Shh, I've got you." He goes down on his knees slowly, having to mind the way he moves. He won't be able to stay down here very long, but he thinks it'll be enough to get Parser to shoot off like a rocket.

"What are you—"

"Shh," Holly says again, and bites one flawless, pale asscheek. "I bet nobody's ever done this for you before."

He should have told the kid to be quiet, but then again, letting the rest of the guys sit there and think about how they can't have what the captain has until he lets them strokes Holly's ego sometimes. He'll definitely get an earful over the loud, shocked moan Parser lets out when Holly spreads his cheeks and licks between them.

"Oh my fucking _Christ_ what the _fuck_ ," Parser shouts next, when Holly switches from broad strokes of his tongue without much pressure to tracing the tip of it along the sensitive nerve endings of Parser's hole.

"Get your hands back here and help out," Holly tells him, giving one asscheek a fond smack. Parser doesn't even hesitate before he arches his back and gets his own hands on his ass, spreading himself open like an offering and burying his face in the comforter.

Holly can hold onto his thighs now, pull Parser back for better leverage and really get in there. The muscles under his hands start to tremble when he strokes the pads of his fingers where he's been licking and slowly, gently slips the tip of one inside.

Parser moans something that gets lost in the blankets. Holly works his finger in slowly while he's sucking at the tender skin on the insides of Parser's thighs, rubbing with his beard just to hear the kid whine at the way it feels. He's going to have beard burn, and that's if Holly doesn't leave any other marks. It won't be long until someone takes the next step out of his hands, at this rate.

Holly pushes the tip of his tongue in beside his finger right as he crooks it down, and Parser predictably loses it right then, coming all over the bedspread and making porno noises loud enough to wake the dead. He's trembling when Holly pulls away, and he doesn't resist at all when Holly grabs him under the armpits and pulls him further up the bed.

He undoes his pants and pushes them down around his thighs. Parser moves a little when he climbs on the bed and throws one leg over Parser's hips, but Holly just lays down on him, letting his weight settle and slotting his dick in between the cheeks of Parser's ass.

"You like that?" he asks, and drags his beard along the side of Parser's neck. He shudders.

"Holy _shit_ , Holly."

"I know," Holly says, letting himself sound as smug as he feels. "You have a gorgeous fucking ass, kid. You gonna let me get in there? Just a little bit. Just want to feel you on my cock, it'll feel so fucking good. You can take it, huh? Tell me you can."

At this point Holly isn't entirely sure he won't fuck the kid anyway, no matter what he says, but he still waits. Parser's back has gone tense under him again, even while Holly rolls his hips lazily, thrusting against him.

"Okay," he says, and it sounds small. Holly's balls feel like they ache with how bad he wants to get inside that virgin hole.

"Okay," Holly says, and sits up enough to take his dick in his hand. He lines up and starts to push, gently at first. "You've got to relax, baby, or it's going to hurt."

It's going to hurt anyway, but it'll hurt a little less if Parser isn't so tense. Parser tries, it's clear. He lets out a long, slow breath and the muscles in his thighs unclench. Holly takes the opportunity to push harder, enough to pop the head of his cock past the resistance of the muscles.

He stops there, even though he feels like he's going to fucking die if he waits any more. Parser is so tight around him it's almost uncomfortable, just slick enough with spit that the friction doesn't burn.

"Oh, shit, that's good. That's so good, Parser, fuck. Can I—"

"I'm—yeah." Parser sounds like he's just trying to breathe, and if Holly were a kinder man, he'd give the kid more time. Too bad for Parser he isn't a kind man. He pushes, giving the kid a little more of his cock, just another inch. Parser flinches, clenching down tight, and Holly thinks for a second it's going to squeeze the tip of his cock off.

"You're so goddamn tight," Holly pants in his ear, leaning down to blanket him again so he can thrust, slowly. He's still taking it easy, only fucking Parser with the first couple inches of his cock. With Parser's legs together like this, Holly's knees on either side, his ass grips the rest of Holly's dick and makes it good even without getting all the way inside.

The sounds Parser is making now sound hurt, strained, like he's trying desperately not to show how hard this is to take. It gets Holly so hot that it doesn't take him more than a dozen thrusts to come, making a mess of Parser's ass and groaning into the side of Parser's neck.

"Mmm," he hums, letting his dick get soft in Parser's ass and finally slide out in a mess of come. "Best way to spend a night after a win."

He climbs off Parser and stretches until his back pops, shaking out the remaining stiffness in his knees from when he was rimming the kid before. He goes to the bathroom and runs the water enough to wet a washcloth.

Parser is still laying where Holly left him when he gets back, his head turned away from the bathroom door, resting on his crossed arms. Holly takes a minute to admire the way the insides of his thighs are pinking up with beard burn, the dark mark of teeth on his ass, and gets back on the bed. He grabs one of Parser's thighs to spread his legs open and feels resistance under his hand.

"Just getting you cleaned up," he says, and Parser lets Holly spread his legs, though he still isn't saying anything. Holly spreads his cheeks with one hand and slides a thumb through the mess, rubbing over Parser's reddened hole.

He hisses through his teeth. "Sore."

"Sorry," Holly says, and wipes up the mess with the washcloth. "I got a little impatient."

"I didn't think you got impatient." There's a little bit of Parser's normal tone back, the one that says he's always laughing at you. 

"Have you looked in a mirror lately?" Holly asks him. He tosses the washcloth aside and pulls at Parser's shoulder until he rolls over. "Do you have any idea how fucking good you look with a dick in your mouth?"

Parser's mouth twitches and his cheeks go red. "Most people wouldn't think that's a compliment."

"Being good in bed is a _skill_ , Parser. You're a natural. Figures you'd just be talented at everything." Holly keeps touching him as he talks, gently stroking a thumb over his collarbone. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Parser says, waving it off like it's nothing. "I mean, I hope I don't sit down weird on the plane tomorrow, but I think I'll be okay."

"You just seemed a little in your head there, for a minute," Holly says, letting his hand slide up to cup the back of Parser's neck.

"I mean." Parser turns redder, and Holly figures he knows what's coming. "I mean, I didn't want to make it a big deal, or into a thing, or whatever. It's just w— I, um. I hadn't gotten that far."

Holly doesn't miss how he nearly says _we_.

"Jesus, was that your first time?" Holly makes himself sound surprised instead of smug. "Fuck, kid, I'm sorry. If I'd known that, I'd—"

"You would've made a huge deal out of it," Parser says, with a little half-shrug. "I mean, I'd done just about everything else. Uh, besides the tongue. Thing."

He stumbles over it a little. Holly smiles at him. "You came pretty hard getting rimmed. Maybe we'll remember that for those nights you can't seem to settle down."

"Yeah maybe," Parser says, his grin a little too eager for the devil-may-care tone in his voice. "And you can, like, fuck me again. Maybe slower."

"Princess," Holly chirps him, flicking at his nipple just to make him gasp. "I'll make it good, you know I will."

"Yeah," Parser says, shifting like he might be able to get it up again if Holly tried hard at it. "You going to sleep?"

"If you work yourself up again you'll have to jerk off," Holly says by way of confirmation. "I'm old."

"Maybe next time I'll just go back with Tanner to his room," Parser says, like he's trying to make Holly jealous. But shit, that's the right idea, and Holly's only going to encourage that line of thinking.

"You'd wear each other out," he says with a small laugh as he strips to get ready for bed. "Come over here and sleep in the bed without the wet spot."

Parser does, looking a little surprised and a little thoughtful, tucking himself into Holly's arms without bothering to put anything on. Holly reaches over him to turn out the light, and Parser's eyes are slipping shut by the time Holly's head hits the pillow.

Things, he thinks, accelerate so nicely when you know which buttons to push.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you were following along on the kinkmeme before this got moved over, this is the last of what was already posted there. Next chapter will be new stuff!


	4. Chapter 4

The season settles into its grind. With their first real road trip in the rearview, October passes in an exchange of wins and losses. They're not quite playing .500 hockey, but they're close. The roster is clicking together. Holly likes how the trades and the rookies are fitting into the group they already have. 

The coaches still like Blazer and Danno as their top pair, but Leo and Eli are rapidly developing an odd-couple type partnership on the second pair, and Eli shows a potential to chew up minutes that will come in handy when Blazer's contract is up. Ollie and Fizz round out their blue line like they always have, but with support above them, they're able to take shorter shifts that are easier on Ollie's hips. 

Parser has been taking more shifts with Tanner and Sergei, leaving Holly to adjust to Theo on his left, who's slower than Parser by a mile. They're turning into a possession line that can extend shifts in the o-zone, with Soup, Matts and Hunts as a heavier checking line. Then they've got their spark plugs—Speedy, Hams, and Billy the Kid—on the fourth line; it's an advantage to have that much speed at both the top and bottom of the roster. Speedy and Parser can both out-skate an icing if they need to, but hopefully Speedy will be the only one who has to.

Sasha has gotten over whatever was fucking with him at the end of last season, where he couldn't go down into his reverse vertical on his left with as much speed as he could on the right. He's been pretty solid in net, and Kiwi has gotten an away game already, a loss that he still kept them in until the final buzzer.

They're solid from the net out, and if they keep trending up, Holly could see them in a divisional spot going into the playoffs. Not the first seed, not when there are still holes he can see in the roster and he's not sure anyone but the top line will be able to reliably score, but in the mix. And anything can happen in the playoffs.

It's enough to keep him pushing on when his knees grind together, cartilage wearing away more rapidly this season than it has in the past. The thought of the Cup, and the fact that he has something to relieve his stress when he gets home.

Sharing him with Tanner seems to have unlocked something in Parser. The cautious, nearly timid way he'd approached the idea of Holly wanting to hook up with him is gone, and in its place is a bratty kind of flirting that's honestly a pain in the ass. He drops a roll of tape in the room and bends over at the waist, making sure his ass is sticking out at Holly when he does it. He cuddles up to Holly when they go out, and if Holly shrugs him off, he'll slide over to Tanner and try to climb in his liney's lap like he doesn't give a shit who sees. 

Lately, he keeps shooting Holly these looks out of the corner of his eye, like he's trying to make Holly jealous, but Holly doesn't play those games. He leans across the booth to talk into Parser's ear, making sure Tanner can hear him.

"If he wants what you're putting on offer later, you'd better give it up," Holly says. "Don't be a tease if you're not going to follow through."

Tanner's hands move under the table. Holly figures he's groping Parser's ass from the way Parser's eyelashes dip like he wants to close his eyes and lean into it in the middle of the fucking bar. He seems to catch himself, taking a deep breath in through his nose and looking down at Tanner with a little quirk to his mouth.

"Yeah?"

"Let's go," Tanner suggests, bouncing his knee hard enough to make Parser bite his lip. Holly slides out of the booth, obligingly letting them out after him, and watches them leave with satisfaction curling through him.

"That's some fucked up hierarchy," Danno says, kicking him under the table. "How come Tanner gets him first?"

"I have a plan," Holly answers, shrugging. His beer is half-empty. He drinks the rest and slides the bottle down to the end of the table. "Anyway, they're lineys. There's a certain amount of bullshit I've got to feed him to ease him in."

"A's next," Danno tells him, and there's nothing joking in the expression on his face. "I'm getting tired of waiting."

"You'll get your turn." Holly's team is a lot more trouble than they're worth, sometimes. If he had any faith in the depth they have in Reno, he might try to take a few of them off the ice for a while just so he doesn't have to deal with them. "Some of you are freaks, Danno, we can't spring that on him at the jump."

"I can go easy," Danno complains, but Holly remembers him saying the same thing last year about Billy the Kid, and also remembers having to send the rookie to Sasha to get belt marks taken care of before morning skate. More than once.

"Trust the plan," Holly tells him, making it clear he's not fucking around, either.

"The man with the plan!" Danno laughs. "Sure, whatever you say, Cap. I'll trust the damn plan."

Still, it makes him think once they've all said their goodbyes and headed home. He's going to need to pick things up. It's been a month of slowly easing Parser in, and Danno is right, it's about time to bring the A's in on this. Juggling the egos of a locker room has been Holly's job for too many seasons now, but at least he's gotten used to it.

He gets lucky. Parser comes back home that night and crawls in Holly's lap, interrupting what he'd been watching as he grinds shamelessly down on Holly's crotch.

"Tanner leave you hanging?" Holly asks, amused. He gropes around for his phone. Maybe he can push things forward tonight. If not, it's not going to hurt anything.

"Kinda," Parser says. "I mean, I blew him, but after he got off it was pretty much done."

"Yeah, that's Tanner." He'd been one of their more reluctant rookies, coming in older than some of the other guys, and he'd been only too eager to participate from the other side once it was his turn. It figures he still won't touch a dick unless he has to, and nobody's making him anymore.

"You wanna?" Parser grinds down against him again. It's the same move he pulled on Tanner in the bar, and Holly isn't sure whether he finds the teenage enthusiasm irritating or ironically funny. He leans forward like he's trying to get Holly to kiss him, and Holly lets him, even when Parser is sloppy with it.

He pretends to think about it for a minute. "I was actually interested in this show, but I'm also not going to say no to that mouth. Blow me while I watch?"

Parser looks uncertain about that for a second, looking back over his shoulder at the television. It's some crime drama that Holly honestly couldn't give a shit about, but he wants to see what Parser will do.

Turns out he'll do what Holly tells him, even if he's not sure about it, which makes Holly's dick start filling out in his underwear. He's still not completely hard when Parser tugs his pants down, and the kid looks up at him like his confidence is leaving him all of a sudden.

"I'm old," Holly says, putting some defensiveness in it. He cradles the back of Parser's head and pulls it down to his lap as he talks. "Don't worry about it. I might not stay hard the whole time, but you're still good."

The head of his dick bumps against Parser's lips. He opens his mouth and takes it in obediently, able to swallow the length of it easily while Holly is still mostly soft. Holly slumps down on the couch, letting the tips of his fingers move idly through Parser's hair, and looks back up at the screen.

Parser tries to suck at first, doing his best to get Holly hard. It works, but since he's not actually paying much attention to Parser's mouth on him, he goes soft again by the next commercial break. Parser's eyes flick up to his, and Holly can see he's unsure again.

"Feels good," Holly says, tugging at the kid's hair a little. "Nice and warm."

It makes Parser relax, which is what Holly was hoping for. He waits until the kid's eyes flutter closed and picks up his phone, tapping out a quick text before he sets it aside and goes back to watching TV.

He knows for a fact nobody has ever done this with Parser before, but the kid is taking it well. His mouth is relaxed now, spit sliding out of the corners and down over Holly's balls. His eyes are shut, and Holly would believe he's asleep except for the slow, teasing flicker of his tongue on the shaft of Holly's cock now and again.

The episode ends before Holly's phone buzzes, but if that doesn't pan out, he still gets a blowjob out of the deal, and he's going to take it. Without any warning, he firms his grip on the back of Parser's head and pushes, sliding his cock all the way down the kid's throat in one go. He just fucking takes it, making a little choking noise but not much else, his throat tight around Holly's cock before he pulls back.

"Oh, fuck, you've gotten so good at that," Holly tells him. He has to remember to be heavy on the praise with Parser, because that's what keeps him coming back for more. Even now, he moans, choked-off as Holly pushes down his throat again.

He's moving slow, taking his time and enjoying a nice, sloppy facefuck. One of Parser's hands is in his own lap, squeezing at his dick like being used is making the kid hot for it, too. It's only going to go better for him if he turns out to be as much of a slut as he's been showing off so far.

The sound of the key in Holly's front door makes Parser jump, pulling against the grip of Holly's hands.

"Shh," Holly says, his hand fisted in Parser's hair to hold him down. The kid twists against the grip, so Holly grabs his chin, thumb digging into the bone. "Parser. Settle down, it's just Sergei."

Parser blinks up at him, lips still stretched over Holly's cock, tears dropping from the ends of his lashes. Holly just holds him there as the door opens and shuts. Parser's fingers are digging so hard into Holly's thighs that they might bruise, but it's the panicked look in his eyes that makes Holly's balls throb.

"You should call before you come over," Holly says. For show, because he's the one who texted Sergei in the first place.

"Need permission now? Tell me one good reason—Ah."

Sergei steps into the living room, out of Parser's sight. Holly can feel Parser's breath speed up, puffs of it on the shaft of his dick, and he's still staring wide-eyed up at Holly like he's fucking terrified.

"Tell the kid you're not going to kick his ass because you found him sucking my dick," Holly says, his voice dry. "He feels like he's going to bolt."

Sergei clicks his tongue. "Parser, you think I do that? My own liney?" He steps up closer to them, crouching down next to Parser where he's kneeling. Holly moves his hand and lets Sergei thread his fingers into Parser's hair instead.

"No, I think instead, say thank you Captain Holly for let me see cute rookie sucking dick so good." He grins, letting go of Parser's hair so he can push against Parser's lower lip with his thumb. Drool spills out over his fingers.

"You're welcome," Holly says. He cradles the back of Parser's neck this time, pushing forward a little with his hips. "Come on, Parser, show him what you can do."

There's a suspended moment where Holly thinks Parser is going to give in to the freakout. He can feel the kid's muscles trembling under his hand, and he doesn't miss the way his eyes are darting between Holly and Sergei like he's wondering what he's gotten himself into. Holly wants to see how he handles being thrown a curveball, one bigger than a pre-arranged threesome or going off to bang your fuckbuddy while your other fuckbuddy stays at home.

Parser's mouth is a fucking gift, but all Holly feels is burning satisfaction as the kid makes a little noise in the back of his throat and sinks down on the shaft of Holly's cock until he's taking it all.

"Fuck," Sergei says. He's touching Parser, his hands roaming over Parser's chest, down to his ass. One of his hands rests briefly on Parser's throat to feel Holly's cock slide down it. "Fuck, so hot. Tell me rookie's ass is hot as his mouth, yes?"

"Oh yeah," Holly says, pushing Parser down on his cock so he can't say anything against it if he wanted to. "So fucking tight."

"Keep him all to yourself," Sergei accuses. He tugs Parser's pants down and manhandles him up to his knees. Holly moves with him, keeping his grip firm on the back of Parser's neck and his cock in Parser's mouth. The kid shivers all over, but he's stopped struggling. Holly takes that to mean he's not going to fight.

"It's not like I didn't tell him he could fuck whoever," Holly says. He's keeping to the same, slow pace he had before Sergei got there, enjoying the hell out of Parser's mouth. The kid deepthroats like a champ these days.

"Maybe rookie doesn't know who wants him," Sergei says, making it sound reasonable. He gets both hands on Parser's ass, kneading at the muscle and spreading them open. "Pretty. Bet it look prettier with a cock in it."

"Mm," Parser manages around Holly's cock. He sounds like he's trying to protest, so Holly leaves him down there.

"Sergei will be careful," he says, not letting up on his pace. "He's not going to hurt you."

"No, no," Sergei says absently. Parser jumps as Sergei rubs over his hole. "Should feel good, da?" Holly and Sergei make eye contact briefly above Parser's head, and Sergei gives him a look. It says everything Holly needs to know about what Sergei thinks of the kid gloves they're using.

Holly keeps lube under the couch, which Sergei remembers from last season. He's going to split the kid open on just his cock and a palmful of spit eventually, but it's still too soon for that.

Parser doesn't sound like he's protesting anymore once Sergei gets his fingers working in the kids' ass. He pushes back into it, making little whining noises around the shaft of Holly's dick, and Sergei has to grab his hip with his free hand to hold him still.

"Slutty rookie," Sergei says, making it sound approving and pleased. "Look so good begging for cock. Shh, shh, I give it to you."

Parser gets a little shaky again as Sergei rubs the head of his cock up and down the kid's ass, but Sergei is old hat at this like Holly is. He waits patiently, letting the kid finally relax before he pushes, sinking in slow.

The noise Parser lets out is like a whimper that breaks into a moan, cut off as Sergei bottoms out and he's pushed down on the shaft of Holly's dick.

"There," Holly says, squeezing the back of his neck. "Didn't I tell you we'd do this again?"

He glances down at Parser to check in. The kid's never been stuffed from both ends before, and if it's too much, Holly will have to settle him down.

Parser's eyes are open, but they're glazed over like he's lost in another world. His throat works around the shaft of Holly's cock, and his fingers have relaxed their death grip on Holly's thighs. He blinks slowly, taking a long breath through his nose as Holly slowly draws back, but at least Holly can see that he's not panicking.

Sergei gets tired of waiting for the kid to adjust as Holly is evaluating, and thrusts forward hard enough to push Holly's cock back down his throat. Parser's eyes slide closed again and he makes a choked sound around Holly that sounds like he fucking loves it.

"So good," Holly says to him, petting his hair as Sergei starts to fuck him. It's not the brutal pace Holly half expected, but he's not going easy, riding the kid hard. Parser keeps up admirably, the blowjob getting sloppier as he just lets himself take it, unable to keep from gagging now and again when he's not able to control the pace. 

He doesn't fight it, though, and that gets Holly almost as hot as just watching what's in front of him. It's satisfying to know that all the work he's put in is bearing fruit. No way would Parser have bent over for this without a fight just a few weeks ago, and now he's shifting his knees wider on the carpet and making choked-off whining sounds around Holly's dick while he gets fucked.

"Your ass," Sergei says, squeezing both cheeks in his hands. "Take it so good, is made to take it. Poor needy rookie, is captain not give you enough? Need more cock for this hungry ass? Come to Seryozha, I fuck you good."

"I give it to him plenty," Holly says mildly, but he's busy watching the effect the words have on Parser, who groans and pushes back against Sergei like the dirty talk is turning him on. "But he is nineteen."

Parser's noises start to get more pitiful as Sergei keeps going, and Holly can't resist grabbing him by the hair to hold him still, fucking forcefully down his throat until he's choking on Holly's come, coughing a little when Holly lets him back up.

"Fuck, you're so good," Holly says, wiping at the come dripping down Parser's chin with his thumb and feeding it to him. "I wish I could give you everything you want, whenever you want it."

"Is what A's are for, Holly," Sergei grunts. He leans down, blanketing Parser's back so he can bite at the back of his neck. One hand slides over Parser's hip, skimming just past his cock and traveling over his abs before Sergei braces him in the middle of his chest. "Keep good, slutty rookies full of dick whenever they need it, da?"

"Oh, fuck," Parser gasps, his eyes squeezed shut, and whether it's because of what Sergei is saying or because he's probably ramming right against Parser's prostate, Holly can't tell. He kid is into it, though, that much is plain from the way he squirms like he's trying to shift his weight enough to touch his cock.

Holly grabs his wrists, pinning his hands down to the couch. "Ask Sergei to give you a hand, if that's what you want."

"Fuck, please, please, please." The begging sounds nearly mindless, like Parser isn't even thinking about what's coming out of his mouth. They've overwhelmed him. It's perfect.

"Please what, rookie?" Sergei asks sweetly, sucking on the side of Parser's neck.

"Make me come, Sergei, fuck," Parser whines at him, his fingers scrabbling at the couch underneath Holly's grip, his face mashed against Holly's thigh. He yelps and jerks, and Holly looks up at Sergei to find out what he did.

"Nipples," Sergei says, a sly smile on his lips. "Maybe see if I can make you come from just this?"

He plucks at one of Parser's nipples again and the kid wheezes like his breath has been punched out. Sergei keeps that up for a while, fingers twisting and pinching at Parser's nipples until his moans have taken on a desperate, keening edge, and his breath catches on the inhale like he might cry.

"Please," Parser begs them. He's trembling, his head rolling from one side to the other in Holly's lap like he just can't deal with how much it all is, and Holly remembers he's been on edge for over an hour now, since Tanner left him hanging.

He catches Sergei's eyes and nods at him, and Sergei only huffs a little at his fun being cut short. He stops teasing at Parser's nipples and grabs his cock, and the kid shoots immediately, shaking as Sergei returns both hands to his hips and fucks his ass hard enough to jolt him in Holly's lap. He doesn't stop until Parser stops gasping for air and starts making noise again, wounded little sounds like he had when Holly was fucking him with just the tip of his cock. It does it for Sergei just as much, it seems, because Sergei swears and spreads both of Parser's asscheeks so he can grind in deep when he comes.

"Perfect," he says, smacking Parser on the ass. "Good boy."

A shiver runs through Parser's body, but whatever he says in response is unintelligible and muffled by his face in Holly's thigh.

"Look so sexy," Sergei continues, and lands a smack on the other cheek. "Want to see how you look?"

Parser stirs, his head rolling to the other side, where he can peer up at Holly through his hair. "What?"

"I take picture, show you pretty ass fucked full of come. I think you like," Sergei says. He smacks Parser on the ass again, sending another jolt through the kid. He looks a little lost, like he had when Holly first started to do work on him, and Holly feels a small voice of caution.

"He's not going to show anyone," he says, making sure his voice is soothing and reassuring. "It's just for you and I to see."

Parser blinks like he's still trying to clear his head. Holly knows it was a lot, which is why pushing now is the best time, when he's still loose and fucked out and suggestible.

"Don't show anyone?" he asks, like he's still unsure.

"No, no," Sergei says, already pulling his phone out of his pocket. "Well."

He pauses, long enough so that Parser struggles and gets his elbows underneath himself, twisting to look over his shoulder.

"Well, what? I'm not—"

"Shh," Sergei says, patting his hip again. "Only if you say is okay, but... I know Danno would like."

Parser's eyes get big again, and he looks back and forth between Holly and Sergei. "Seriously?"

"I've been trying to tell you," Holly says with a shrug. "Not Danno specifically, but haven't I told you how good you look?"

"I don't." Parser ducks his head again. Sergei squeezes his ass and he inhales.

"You can say no if it's too much," Holly says, making his voice so gentle that Parser looks up at him sharply.

"I can handle it," he says, cocky and brash, set off by Holly's patronizing tone exactly the way Holly thought he would be. He takes a breath and reaches behind, spreading himself open the same way he had for Holly in the hotel room. Holly just barely keeps himself from smirking at how easy it is to goad Parser into things.

"So good," Sergei tells him, aiming his phone for Parser's messy, leaking hole. "Push, let me see it drip." 

Holly can see the back of Parser's neck turn crimson, but he does as he's told, and Sergei snaps a few pictures of his own come dripping out, then a few of him with two messy fingers shoved back into Parser's hole, making the kid gasp and squirm all over again. When he's done, he hums thoughtfully and swipes through the pictures until he apparently settles on the one he likes, tilting the screen so Parser can see.

Parser makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat, his mouth falling open and his cheeks turning pink again. Sergei grins shamelessly at him and drops his phone back in his pocket as he stands.

"What did you come over here for in the first place?" Holly asks, once Sergei has snapped a few pictures. He trusts his A to keep faces out of it, to make it as anonymous as possible. Danno will only know it's Parser because Sergei tells him. Well, Danno and whoever else Sergei decides to show. Sasha, probably, and maybe the new guy, Leo. It'll be open season on the kid as soon as those pictures make the rounds.

"Vodka," Sergei says. "You still keep extra?"

" _You_ still keep extra in my freezer, even though you moved out three years ago," Holly says dryly. "Get your stash and go, I need to put the kid to bed. You wore him out."

"I'm fine," Parser protests, but it's mumbled and maybe a little shaky. Sergei pats Parser on the hip and gets up, working the stiffness out of his knees. He disappears into the kitchen and then out the front door without another word. Holly doesn't even see if he actually grabs the bottle from the freezer for the cover story or not.

"Jesus," Parser says, when the door closes. " _Jesus_."

"Have fun?" Holly asks, petting at Parser's hair again.

The kid doesn't relax under the touch like he usually does, and eventually he sits back on his heels, chewing on his lip, his eyebrows scrunched, staring at the couch between Holly's knees like he's trying to unravel a mystery.

"So like, did you guys used to fuck?" he asks.

"Sergei and I?" Holly laughs. "He has a key because he used to live here and I never bothered to have the locks redone."

Parser's head jerks up, and he stares at Holly. "Dude, it's not fucking normal for your bro to walk in on another dude sucking your dick and be like 'oh, cool, maybe I'll join in.'"

"We're a team," Holly says, shrugging. "It's not the first time he's seen me getting my dick sucked, and not the first time we've shared. And, you know, it's safer for guys to blow off steam with someone they're sure isn't going to go flapping their mouth to the press about it. That goes for hooking up with chicks or otherwise—you've got money and fame, now, you've got to watch out for who's in it for that."

"So," Parser says slowly. Holly almost wishes the kid wasn't so smart, except for the fact that he wouldn't be as good at hockey. "So, basically, the team just... kind of fucks with each other?"

"You'll figure it out," Holly says, ruffling his hair. "But you didn't answer me when I asked. Did you have fun?"

"Uh, _yeah_." Parser says it like it's obvious, but also like he's distracted by this new idea that he could be hooking up with his teammates, plural—not just Holly and Tanner.

"You just looked a little freaked when he first came in."

"Wouldn't you be? I swear to fuck, Holly, it's like you've got ice in your veins." Parser finally gets to his feet, staggering a little when his pants catch him around his ankles. Sergei hadn't even taken them off. He pulls them up, holding them there with one hand and shifting uncomfortably, like come has started to run down his leg.

"You don't have to worry about your teammates," Holly says. "I've made sure it's a good room. And I mean that, I'm not just blowing smoke. Nobody's going to give a shit, even if they walk into the room and I've got you bent over the bench."

Parser's eyes glaze over, just like Holly had thought they would. Holly can also see his dick stirring in his pants, even though he and Sergei just went to town on him. The kid really is a fucking gift.

"So uh," Parser says, sounding a little breathless, "I guess Sergei wasn't fucking around when he said he was going to show Danno?"

"Not at all." Holly gives him a slow, lazy grin, leaning back against the back of the couch. Parser's eyes fall to his lap, where he hasn't bothered to zip up and put himself away, and then dart back to Holly's face. "I can't keep up with you. That's fine, you're nineteen. I keep saying, but maybe you're not hearing me—go fuck around. You're a young gay man, I'd be worried if you weren't trying to climb on every dick you could."

Parser's face reddens again, the flush creeping down his neck and collarbones. "You don't think I'm a slut or whatever?"

"Who says that's even a bad thing?" Holly shrugs. "Sergei didn't sound like he thought it was a bad thing."

"I—" Parser starts, but he trails off, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth and chewing on it. Finally, he turns to go off to the bathroom, and Holly doesn't miss that he's already starting to get hard again. Maybe Holly is conditioning him to like it, or maybe he's just wired to like it, but it's clear now that Parser is turned on by the idea of being watched and shared.

It gives Holly more ideas about what his next move will be. Danno is going to be sore that Holly let Sergei have the kid first, but it works out better this way. He thinks he knows how he can prime Parser for what Danno is going to dish out.

They can't break this rookie, after all. He's going to be a superstar. That much is plain over the course of the next two home games. Parser gets four points over those two games, one of them a goal. It has him on a forty goal pace, and he might crack the high end of sixty points, if not seventy, by the end of the season. He's stunning to watch skate, lightning on ice, and he has the best fucking hands Holly has ever seen in a winger. He can do things with the puck that most people can't even imagine, like he's always got it on a string, and he gets in people's kitchen, too.

It's the latter that also nets him four penalty minutes in the second home game. Two for crosschecking is a soft, kind of bullshit call, but Holly also can't argue that it's crosschecking in front of the net, when Parser really shouldn't even _be_ the guy in front of the net. He's too small to be pushing and shoving in front of a goalie, and he definitely shouldn't be screening and maybe getting himself hit by shots. 

The second is a penalty any day of the week, a tripping call where Parser gets his stick in the other forward's skates on the rush, sending him tumbling down to the ice. The guy slides into the boards and is slow getting up, and Parser hesitates, then tries to skate over, only to be brought up short by the ref herding him into the box.

The Blues are pissed, and they score on the ensuing power play. It pushes them into overtime, and Parser huddles down on one end of the bench between the end of regulation and the overtime period, his shoulders hunched over his ears, the picture of a miserable rookie who knows he's made a mistake.

"Parser!" Coach barks on the bench. "Head out of your ass! You, Eddie, Leo—get out there!"

It's not a bad combination for a 3-on-3, even though there's no center on the ice. Eddie and Parser are used to taking rushes together, and Eddie is great on the dot. Leo backs them up, taking possession of the puck as Eddie wins it back. Parser has the speed to get sprung by the long pass, which is exactly what Leo does—only it doesn't go in as Parser shoots it on goal, knocked aside by an emphatic blocker punch into the corner.

The Blues scoop it up and come back the other way on an odd-man rush. Leo switches seamlessly backward, getting his stick in the passing lane and trying to cut off the option as they come back down the ice. Kiwi, in for Sasha on this second half of a back-to-back, comes to the top of his paint, cutting off the angle before he slowly inches back on his skates, getting deeper in the crease as the shooter bears down on him.

Holly swears his heart stops when he hears the sharp _ping!_ of a shot off the crossbar. Leo gloves it down and retreats behind their net, letting Parser and Eddie bail onto the bench.

Sergei and Tanner go over the boards, and Leo skates it out from behind the net, dishing it off before he changes too, and Blazer is over the boards. All three of them are sucking wind, and Leo blasts himself in the face with his water bottle, shaking it out of his eyes just in time to jump off the bench with a roar as Sergei slaps the puck into the back of the net.

Their fans go nuts. "Ace of Spades" blasts through the rafters as Sergei pumps both hands in the air, his mouth open on a yell that can't be heard over the crowd. Tanner slams into him, and then Blazer slams both of them into the boards. The rest of them come off the bench and catch the celly as they skate over to Kiwi, who's bouncing on his skates, his arms flung open wide to receive Sasha, who always shoves his way to the front of the line to hug Kiwi first.

Parser is a live wire after the win. He's bouncing as he unlaces his skates and strips off his jersey and pads. PR wants Kiwi and Sergei for post, this time, so Parser is spared being pulled into the hallway to smile for the cameras. Instead, he works his way out of his shin pads and his hockey pants, leaving him in his compression shorts, socks, and garters, which he doesn't seem in any hurry to take off. He leans back in his stall, letting his knees splay open, shirtless and sweaty, and pours water over his head.

It's like he's trying to look like some kind of porno shoot. It's funny, and if Holly didn't have plans, he'd let whoever wanted to take him up on what he's offering. It might be interesting to see how Parser would react to someone he doesn't even know wants him.

Instead Holly says, "Everyone but letters, get your shit and get a move on. Leadership meeting."

There's a collective groan from the guys, and Parser even looks up at him and fucking pouts. Holly levels the sternest look he can muster at him.

"Not you, rookie. We need to talk about penalties."

A very juvenile _Ooooh_ rises from the room behind him, and Parser's pout wavers, uncertain. He looks from Holly, to Sergei, to Danno, and starts to sit up. Holly reaches out and catches him in the chest, knocking him back against the wall of his stall. He can see Parser's throat bob as he swallows. The kid looks nervous. It coils through the pit of Holly's gut.

Holly waits until the noise in the room has died down and the door swings shut after them. The equipment guys won't come in to clear the room until Holly relinquishes it—that's something he established with them when Vegas first became a franchise, and he's got enough clout to make it happen even if they do bitch about late turnover.

"Look, the first call was soft—" Parser starts, his words tumbling over each other. Holly reaches down and slips his fingers under the garter, pulling it taut and letting it go. It snaps hard against the pale skin of Parser's thigh, raising a red mark. Parser gasps, his eyes darting to Danno again, then back to Holly.

"I'll say when you get to talk, got it?" Holly touches Parser's hair, lets his fingers trail down Parser's cheek. The kid leans into it, even as he bites his lip and starts to chew on it. "That first call may have been soft, but you had no business posting up in front of the net."

"That's my job," Danno chimes in. Holly steps aside to let Parser see him, with his arms crossed over his chest and a scowl on his face. "I block pucks. You shoot pucks."

"It's not like I went to the front of the net on purpose, I just ended up there on the cycle—"

"Then you lost track of the cycle," Holly cuts in. He grabs a tight fistful of Parser's hair and shakes him a little, fascinated by the way he can see the signals get crossed in the kid's head. He winces, but he also shudders, his head falling back to bare his throat like he can't think of anything else to do. "I also said to keep your mouth shut, didn't I?"

"Holly, I—" Parser starts, and then snaps his jaw shut, like he's just processed what Holly said. He takes a breath, then lets it out, looking between the three of them like he's aching to say something.

"No excuse for second dumb shit," Sergei says. He's still sitting in his stall, across the room from Parser, but his presence isn't any less felt. "Tripping ref could see from mile away. You want to be pest? Yes, is good for team, be _good_ pest. Is no point in pest who gets caught."

Parser's face starts to turn red at that, and his eyes drop to the floor. He does look like he's honestly sorry for that one, and he looks up at Holly like he'd say so if he didn't think it would get him in trouble again.

"I've had the C for a while," Holly says, letting his grip on Parser's hair relax now that the kid is behaving. "One thing I've learned is that telling the rookies not to do stupid shit never really seems to stick. Mostly they need a little physical reinforcement. Now, I can see you want to say you're sorry. Obviously, because you got caught and you got in trouble. But I don't think you're _sorry_ , not like you mean it."

Parser twitches against Holly's grip in his hair. "I am sorry," he mumbles. He probably thinks he says it under his breath, quiet enough for nobody but Holly to hear him.

"If you were sorry, you'd listen to what the captain said and take it like a man, instead of trying to squirm out of it," Danno tells him. "That's why I'm here. I'm going to put you over my knee and make sure you learn your lesson."

"What?" Parser's head snaps up, and he looks between Danno and Holly, his eyes big. "You're going to what?"

"Still not listen," Sergei says, sounding mournful. "Think rookie needs help following rules."

"I think that's a good idea," Holly says. He crowds Parser back into his stall, reaching down to unclip his garters. "As much as I'd like to leave all this on. You knew what you were doing, didn't you?"

Parser bites his lip, clearly uncertain about whether or not he's supposed to reply. Holly strips his socks off, works his compression shorts down over his hips. The kid might look nervous, but he's still mostly hard when Holly gets him down to his underwear, which he also strips off.

If they were further along, Holly would shove the sweat-soaked underwear into Parser's mouth and make him take it whether he wanted to or not. It's a pity they're not quite there yet, he thinks as he discards them and pulls a spare, clean sock from his own stall, wadding it up.

"Open up," he says. Parser's eyes are even rounder, now, and his breath is coming short and heavy. He's flushed red, and his dick is definitely on board, but he looks like he can't quite decide whether he wants this or not. Holly doesn't give him time to decide—he pushes at Parser's lips with the sock until the kid has to open up or have his lips ground against his teeth. He stuffs as much in there as he thinks he can without choking the kid and claps his hand over Parser's mouth so he can't spit. "Bite down and keep that there."

Parser makes a sound behind the gag, and a pissy expression flashes over his face. For a brief second, he's glaring at Holly, and Holly thinks this could get dangerous. If Parser decides it's too much and takes a swing at him, he'll have to put the kid down, and that's going to fuck everything up.

"We're doing this for your own good," he says, trying to make his tone a little more gentle and a little less stern. "Learn to take your medicine. We don't drop gloves with teammates, so if you're going to screw with us out on the ice, we're going to make sure you pay for it in a way you'll remember."

He can feel Parser relaxing, the more he talks. Holly fucking loves hockey. It gets in kids' heads so early, it's a cakewalk to convince them that pretty much any fucked up shit he can think of is somehow good for the team. It's how he gets his hooks in every time. Finally, after holding the kid's eyes for a few minutes, Parser huffs out a breath and nods against Holly's hand.

"Good boy," Holly tells him, slowly drawing his palm away. Parser doesn't spit the gag out. He's biting down on it just like Holly told him to. Holly steps back, gesturing to Danno. "He's all yours."

"Get up, kid," Danno says, stepping up and grabbing Parser by his arm, lifting him up onto his feet when Parser doesn't move fast enough. He stumbles a little as Danno maneuvers him, sitting down in Parser's stall and spreading his thighs out wide enough to brace Parser over them, head down, ass raised up, his dick swinging between Danno's thighs. He's hard. Holly isn't surprised in the least.

"Standard is five swats for every penalty minute," Holly says, and watches Parser's face flicker through a couple different expressions—probably doing math and filing away what Holly means by _standard_ at the same time. The kid really is too smart for his own good. "Since it's your first time, though, I'll have Danno go easy on you. Five for every two minutes."

This time Parser makes a noise behind the gag, bracing against Danno's thigh like he wants to push up. Danno grabs the back of his neck and shoves him back down.

"You want all twenty?" Holly asks, his eyebrows raised. "I don't know if you can take it, to be honest."

"Mm," Parser says, and he cranes his neck to the side, trying to see Holly.

Holly squats down beside him, taking Parser's chin in his hand. "You don't have to prove yourself. That's part of what gets you into trouble out there. You only have to take ten because I said that's all you have to take."

"Mm-mm." Parser tries for a head shake, still glaring stubbornly at him, but he can't manage it with Danno's grip on his neck and Holly's hand on his face.

"Well fuck, kid, if you're going to be a glutton for punishment, I won't deny you," Danno says. He runs his free hand over Parser's back, his flank. "I've been waiting to get my hands on this ass for days now, ever since Sergei showed me. You're going to turn nice and red."

"There's a reason why Danno's the one who gets to do this," Holly says, letting a smirk curl across his lips. "You sure you still want all twenty?"

Parser's eyes dart up to Sergei, who's still watching from all the way across the room. He's red in the face, and only partially from how he's propped with his head hanging down. He's just so fucking stubborn and horny that he walks right into it, grunting into the gag again and wiggling on Danno's lap like he's trying to goad them. Holly wonders if he'll still have that bratty eagerness once Danno's laid a few hits on him.

"You got it," Holly says, letting him go and stepping back. "Five for every penalty minute."

"Rookie doesn't want you go easy," Sergei drawls.

"I never go easy," Danno says.

He lays the first heavy, open-palmed smack on Parser's upturned ass with no further warning or preparation. The sound is loud and satisfying, as is the loud, satisfying yelp Parser lets out. He tries to sit up against Danno's grip on the back of his neck, but Danno just forces him back down.

"You asked for this." Danno lays the next strike on the opposite cheek, and Parser jerks again, yelling into the gag. "Do you need Sergei to hold you still?"

Parser takes in a long, shuddering breath as Danno pauses after the first two hits. His ass is already pinking up. Holly's dick gets hard thinking how good it'll look when Danno leaves handprints on it.

"Sergei," Holly says, not worried about waiting for Parser to try an answer. Sergei gets up and saunters around the perimeter of the room, avoiding the logo on the carpet, to kneel down in front of Parser. He takes both of Parser's wrists in his hand, maneuvering them behind the kid's back and pinning them there with one big hand. Parser makes another little noise, but that's secondary to how he's trembling, all the muscles in his ass tight as he anticipates the next blow.

Danno doesn't wait for him to relax. He lays into Parser's ass, alternating between cheeks, hard hits that make the muscle bounce and redden right away. Parser jerks hard against Sergei's grip whenever a new strike falls, but he seems more like he's reacting to the pain than fighting to get away. He looks dazed, and his cock is dripping between his legs. He starts whimpering into the gag by the fourth blow, and by the time Danno gets up to eight, he's squirming his hips side to side and trying to curl himself into a ball.

"You've got twelve more," Holly says, and gets a moan from Parser that sounds like a cross between despair and desperation.

"I think the kid's into this," Danno says, casually squeezing the red, bruised cheeks of Parser's ass. He digs his fingers into the dark marks his palm has left and Parser fucking whines, his thighs straining.

"Sure looks like it." Holly allows himself to sound smug. He's suspected this about Parser since that night in the hotel room with Tanner, but seeing his cock twitch when Danno pulls back and slaps the back of his thigh is something else.

He keeps the spanking there for the next set of four blows, reddening the backs of Parser's thighs, and then he goes back to squeezing and fondling the skin he's already spanked. Parser moves like he doesn't know whether it hurts too much or feels too good, little jerking movements that break off into trembling.

"Spread his legs," Danno says, and Holly steps to the side to kick Parser's heels apart, leaving the tender insides of his thighs on display. Danno hits hard, the clap of his palm noisy in the quiet room, and Parser makes a thin, high sound, trying to pull his legs closed. Holly kicks them open again and stands between them. He has to reach into his pants and squeeze his own cock at the noise Parser makes next, a choked, wet sound like he's going to cry.

"There, now rookie sound sorry," Sergei says, a saccharine coo as he holds Parser's wrists in a vise grip. "Only few more."

Parser's head shakes, but he's not struggling anymore. He rocks with the impact of Danno's hand on the inside of his thighs, outright sobbing as they start to turn red and Danno lands more hits on the tender surface.

"Last two," Danno says, rubbing up and down Parser's reddened skin. "You took that like a fucking champ, kid, I think you can take a little more."

Parser's shoulders hitch up around his ears, as much as they can with Sergei pinning his arms behind his back. When Holly leans down to spread the cheeks of his ass open, fingers digging in firm, Parser's breath shudders in on a wet gasp.

"Just two," Holly says, and Parser is shaking well before Danno lands a hard slap right on his hole, making him howl and kick at the floor. It's maybe too much, maybe pushing him too far, but Holly is so fucking hard he could pound nails. It's too hot _not_ to, and besides, the kid asked for it.

The last hit to his asshole makes Parser's toes curl against the carpet, and he collapses, rocking forward until his forehead is planted in Sergei's shoulder. He still has his teeth clamped firmly around the sock in his mouth, and he buries his face against Sergei and makes wounded, wrecked sobbing sounds, like he's trying to hold it in and just can't.

"You okay," Sergei tells him, finally letting go of his grip on Parser's wrists. "Is okay, you want cry little bit, is good. Means you sorry, know you do better next time."

Parser whimpers into Sergei's shoulder. He tries to bring his thighs together, but still can't with Holly between them. Holly lets go of his ass, watching color flood into the white fingerprints he left. There are red handprints up and down his thighs, and darker fingerprints on the meat of his ass.

"Fucking gorgeous," Danno says, getting another big handful. Parser's thighs twitch, and he makes a soft little noise that breaks into a moan of uncomplicated pleasure when Danno lets go of his ass to give him a reach around and touch his neglected dick. "Oh, he _loved_ it."

"I tell you," Sergei says, sounding smug. He touches the corners of Parser's mouth gently, coaxing him to relax his jaw and let go of his sock gag. "Rookie is very good slut."

"Fuck," Parser croaks out, his voice dry and broken. He's still got his head tucked against Sergei's shoulder, but his hips are working, trying to get some friction out of Danno's fist.

"I guess I should stop underestimating you," Holly says. "You know what you're about."

Parser's chest heaves for a second like he's trying to catch his breath. There's still a little bit of a shudder to it, like he hasn't quite recovered from sobbing all over Sergei during his spanking.

"Went harder than I thought," he finally mumbles. "I'm okay."

"Of course you are," Holly says, stroking the back of his thigh as Danno fondles his cock. "You did great."

"Learn your lesson?" Sergei asks him, and gets a vigorous nod against his shoulder in response.

"Jesus, yeah. No more stupid penalties." Parser sounds absolutely heartfelt, and if Holly gets nothing out of this but a consciousness of stupid penlties, he'll take it.

He knows he's getting more out of this, though, and that just makes it sweeter.

"How about you say thank you to your teammates for helping you learn?" Holly pats the back of his thigh—Parser hisses between his teeth at the contact—and steps back. "Danno, what do you want?"

"You look good with my handprints all over you," Danno says. "I think I'd like to come on that pretty red ass."

"Holy fuck," Parser gasps, and Holly figures Danno tightened his hand down on the kid's dick while he was talking. "Yeah, shit, how do you want me?"

Sergei and Danno get him turned around, on his knees and elbows with his ass on display, his thighs spread open. Holly unzips his pants, getting a hand on his own dick again as Danno starts to jerk it, aiming for the handprints on Parser's abused ass.

"Yeah, that's fucking pretty," Danno grunts, come landing on the bruises and red marks, dripping sloppily down Parser's crack. "Stay there."

"Oh my god," Parser says quietly, and lets out a near-giddy laugh against the carpet.

"Close your legs," Holly tells him, kneeling down behind him. He smears his dick through the mess Danno left and slots it between the kid's thighs.

"Ah, fuck—" Parser gasps, his fingers scrambling against the carpet for something to hold onto. It probably hurts, Holly sliding his cock against the red, tender skin of his thighs, his hips meeting Parser's bruised ass.

"You can take it," Holly tells him, and keeps going, careless in his own pleasure. Holly isn't sure whether the best part is the hurt little noises Parser is making, or the way his thighs shake with the effort of staying clamped tight around Holly's dick. Holly comes between Parser's thighs, leaving him even stickier and messier, and stands up.

"You want to get off now?" he asks.

Parser sits back on his heels, reaching for his cock. Sergei knocks it aside.

"No, no, still have one left," he says, unbuttoning his pants. "I didn't get to try pretty rookie's mouth yet."

The kid's face twists in frustration, that bratty edge back to his expression, and Holly leans down to whisper in his ear.

"If you're good for Sergei, maybe he'll take you home with him and fuck you in the morning." He makes it sound like a reward worth waiting for, and from Parser's first experience with Sergei's cock up his ass, he doesn't think he's too far off the mark.

"Shit, you guys are a lot." Parser looks like he's wavering again, so Holly kisses him, because he's had a good track record with that in the past. He bites at Parser's lip a little, gets him squirming and desperate, and then tips him over to Sergei.

"Go on."

Parser does. He swallows Sergei's cock down like he was never thinking of doing anything else. He gives Danno and Holly an excellent view of his ass and thighs, marked up with handprints and come, while he does it.

"Go easy on him in the morning," Holly says, clapping Sergei on the shoulder. He doesn't look at the kid as he gathers his things together and throws them into his bag. He'll shower when he gets home. It's important to start establishing that Parser can be literally passed off to someone else for the night, since it's liable to start happening anyway.

"I take good care of such good rookie," Sergei says, even as he's shoving his cock down Parser's throat and choking him on it. The kid takes it like he's made for it, drooling all over Sergei's balls and moaning whenever he gets breath.

Holly leaves them to it.


	5. Chapter 5

Holly trusts Sergei about as far as he can throw the guy in skates, so he sleeps restlessly that night. It's unusual for a lot of reasons. Holly usually sleeps like the dead after a win, especially a win where he got to dole out some discipline afterward. He's also never really given a shit about how Sergei treats his toys before.

When the kid does stumble back into the apartment the next day, sometime around eleven, Holly has already slammed two cups of coffee and is on his way to an extremely grumpy morning. It's very little condolence that Parser looks like he's walking on cloud nine, with a goofy smile and just a hint of hitch in his step.

Holly swats him on the ass when he walks past, just to make him flinch and gasp. "Sergei go easy on you like I asked, or did you brat your way into more?"

Parser turns red, but he doesn't look like he's lying when he says, "He went easy. I was too sore for much else."

"Good thing we have an off day today, or the bench would be hell on that," Holly says, raising his eyebrows. "You should have taken the out."

"I'm fine," Parser insists, the same way he did in the locker room. He shifts from one foot to the other. "I mean... it hurts, but..."

"But you liked it," Holly finishes. "So did he fuck you last night or this morning?"

The kid turns redder, flushing up to his hairline. "This morning." Then he makes an irritated sound. "He didn't even let me _come_ until this morning."

"Yeah?" Holly says. He can picture Parser squirming around in Sergei's passenger seat, hard and aching, while Sergei only clicked his tongue and smiled at him. He sets his coffee cup aside and comes closer, crowding Parser back against the doorway. His hands creep down to Parser's ass, groping, making him hiss through his teeth. "Did he leave you a mess? I know how much he likes that."

"I—" Parser gasps, his back arching. Holly isn't sure whether he's trying to get away from the pressure of Holly's fingers on his ass, or whether he wants to rub up against Holly's swelling hard-on. "Fuck, Holly. I wasn't supposed to tell you until after breakfast."

"Tell me what?" Holly asks, nosing into the crook of Parser's neck, where he can bite. The kid whines, squirming against his front.

Parser clears his throat and does a horrible imitation of Sergei's accent. "'Go home, eat, coffee, then show captain my surprise like good rookie,'" he says.

Holly pulls back, completely failing to keep a sleazy grin off his face. Sergei is already pulling out all his little tricks on the kid, even after one night. 

"Far be it for me to contradict one of my A's," he says, letting go of Parser and picking up his coffee again. "Go on, do as you're told."

"Seriously?"

"You need the calories," Holly says, shrugging. "The blender's there if you want a smoothie or some shit."

Parser squirms against the doorframe, still red in the cheeks, all but confirming Holly's theory about Sergei's surprise. When it's clear that his antics aren't going to get Holly's attention, his face goes through an expression that Holly would classify as a bratty pout before he goes to the fridge to grab fruit and yogurt.

"Protein powder," Holly says, gesturing with his coffee mug. "I'm sure Sergei fed you last night, but you need recovery food."

The kid doesn't bother to answer him, but he has a mulish set to his face as he throws things haphazardly into the blender and punches the button. Holly takes a slow drink of his coffee, wondering whether he'd get away with pushing his luck again after last night. He waits until the blender turns off.

"Danno had a good time," he says, casual, testing the waters.

The backs of Parser's ears turn red. He shifts from foot to foot, like he's feeling the effects of the spanking. "That's good."

"You seemed like you had a good time, too." Holly finishes off his coffee as Parser dumps the contents of the blender into a cup. "Sit down."

Parser eyes the barstool. His eyes flick over to Holly. He still looks grumpy, like he can't believe Holly is making him do this, but he gingerly climbs onto the stool.

Holly expects both the hiss between his teeth when he starts to sit and the little gasp and squirm that follows. He leans his elbows down on the bar, watching Parser try to get comfortable enough to drink his smoothie.

"Did you?" he asks, watching Parser hastily swallow and wipe his mouth. The way the kid's throat moves is even enough to get him hot. Maybe he's had too much time alone with him. It'll be best to move this along.

"What?"

"Did you enjoy yourself?"

"I—" Parser's hands twist themselves together. "I mean, you were there."

"It was a lot," Holly tells him, trying to make his voice captain-ly, threading a little bit of 'you're-just-so-young' condescension in there for good measure. "I'm just checking in."

Parser scowls, just as Holly predicted he would, gulping down more of his smoothie. "I'm fine, Holly, Jesus Christ. Weren't you the one that said I should like, go nuts and fuck around?"

"Safely," Holly puts in. "With the team."

"That's what I meant, God." Parser is sounding more like a bratty teenager the longer this conversation goes on. "Would you quit it? I'm not going to freak out. I can handle it."

"Can you," Holly says, making it more into a statement than a question.

"I liked it, okay, is that what you want to hear me say?" Parser bursts out. His face is red, but Holly can't tell if it's from frustration or embarrassment. "I don't know, I just. I don't want you to worry about me so much. I'm an adult and stuff."

Holly barely contains himself from rolling his eyes. Fucking teenagers. "Maybe I just like hearing you say it."

Parser's face gets redder, his eyes dropping to the countertop. He squirms in his chair again and finishes off his smoothie, setting the glass down with a click.

"I like it," he says, quieter this time. Less defensive, more sincere. "I didn't think I did. I guess I don't know what I like."

He sounds a little lost, looking down at his hands. Holly comes around the bar and puts his arm around Parser's shoulders, squeezing him for just a moment before letting him go.

"Lots of the guys are into weird shit," he says. "Which isn't my business to spread around. You'll find out if you get curious enough. You like what you like. Why waste time getting in your head about it? So you found out something else you like. It's not exactly fucking uncommon. You're a teenager, don't you watch porn?"

"Sure," Parser mumbles, his face still red. "Kind of."

He considers Parser for a moment, then curls his hand around the back of his neck. "Didn't you have something you were supposed to show me?"

On cue, Parser squirms on the barstool again. His shoulders curl up, the way Holly is beginning to understand they do when he's fighting through embarrassment and trying to push his way out the other side. He's got so much bravado, it's almost ridiculous.

He slides off the stool, his eyes darting between Holly and the floor like he can't decide where to look. Well. Now is as good a time as any to start laying down some further expectations, and Holly likes what he likes.

"You can look down or keep your eyes closed," he says, crowding up behind Parser. "You said you like it when I take control."

To emphasize what he means, he curls his hand around Parser's hip and pulls, shoving at his shoulders, forcing him to bend down on his elbows onto the barstool. Parser takes in a shuddery breath. When Holly looks, he has his eyes closed.

"That's a good boy." He makes sure to lean his body over Parser when he says it, letting his breath wash over the back of the kid's neck. It elicits the response he wanted, Parser shivering under the heat of his body, the hair on the back of his neck prickling as Holly watches. "All you have to do right now is do what you're told."

"'M good at that," Parser mumbles into his elbows.

"So I've seen," Holly says. He pushes up Parser's shirt, exposing the bare skin of his back so Holly can touch. He moves slowly, getting Parser worked up until he's panting, color high in his cheeks. "I think I can guess what Sergei left for me, but why don't you tell me?"

Parser's breath hitches in. His shoulders start to tense. Holly grabs his ass before he can tense up too much, and he breaks into a moan, going up on his tiptoes on the stool.

"He—you were right, when you said." Parser's voice drops off, quiet. He has trouble saying things aloud, but Holly isn't going to make this easy on him. "When you said he left me a mess."

"That's not all." Holly keeps touching him, one hand kneading at the sore cheeks of his ass while the other strokes over his skin, gentle.

"No," Parser says, wavering as Holly digs his fingers into the inside of Parser's thigh. "He, um. Put a toy to keep it inside."

He says it in a rush, and when Holly looks at his face again, his eyes are squeezed tightly shut. He's embarrassed. Holly blankets him with his body again, biting at the tender skin just behind his ear. Parser groans, pushing his whole body into the contact.

"That wasn't so hard," Holly says, voice low in Parser's ear. "Good boy. Now pull your pants down and show me."

He steps back, leaving Parser teetering for a moment on the stool before he recovers his balance. The kid shifts awkwardly, trying to figure out how to move while staying balanced. He ends up on his belly on the stool, working his pants down over his hips.

"No underwear," Holly observes, stepping up close to him again. The second thing he sees are the red marks left by Danno's hands, barely-there bruises. Sore, but not anything that will keep Parser from doing whatever the trainers put him through later today.

"I didn't have any," Parser mumbles. Holly gets a firm, double handful of Parser's ass and spreads his cheeks, and he drops his head again. With the way he had to move to get his pants down, his head hangs low between his shoulders, arms braced on the countertop.

The plug is one of Sergei's smaller toys, and Holly approves even though he wishes it was one of the big glass ones. He taps his thumb against it, watching Parser jerk at the contact. It has a little jewel at the base. He wonders if that's part of why Parser was so embarrassed, and decides to lean on it.

"Pretty," he says, tapping the base of the plug again. "Sergei give you any other instructions?"

Parser has to clear his throat. The back of his neck is burning red. Holly taps the plug again as he's trying to get breath to speak, then presses with the back of his knuckles until Parser groans, muffled like he's biting his lip.

"Just," Parser gasps, breathless. "Just 'make Captain happy.'"

"My A's are so good to me," Holly says, smug. He grabs the base of the plug and twists, pulling out just a little and pushing back in, watching Parser rock up onto his toes. "C'mere then, kid, let's make your Captain happy."

He pulls Parser up with a firm arm around his chest, steering him stumbling into the living room. He pushes him down over the arm of the couch and grabs the plug again before he can orient himself, tugging and pushing until Parser is trying to rub his dick against the arm of the couch.

"He did let you come this morning?" Holly asks, pulling at the plug with purpose now. He keeps his eyes on Parser's hole, watching it open up to release the cold metal from inside.

"Y-yes," Parser says, a little wariness in his voice.

"Then I think you'll wait until I'm done with you." Holly tosses the plug onto the couch near Parser's head. "Keep ahold of that, I'll need it in a minute."

He waits for Parser to fumble around and grab the plug before he pulls down his pants, spreading Parser open. He spits, saliva landing right in the crack of his ass and dripping down. Holly snugs the head of his cock against Parser's hole and starts to push before the kid can realize what he's doing.

"Holly, fuck," Parser whines, wiggling on the couch. He's not really trying to get away, but his body is moving on instinct, retreating from what hurts. Holly grabs both his hips and pins him to the arm of the couch, pushing in with tiny little thrusts.

"You're still so tight," Holly pants, the head of his cock squeezed in the tight ring of Parser's asshole. "Just stay still for me."

Holly spits again, letting go of one of Parser's hips long enough to spread it around the rim of his hole, reddening from the abuse Holly is putting it through. It looks so fucking hot that he shoves another inch of his dick inside, breathing in the strangled little sound Parser makes like it's air. The kid's ass is so fucking good, tight and just barely slick from the Holly's spit and the come Sergei left in him.

"You're doing so good for me," he says, and hears Parser make a muffled sound into the couch in response. He knows he should be listening to make sure it's a good kind of sound, that he isn't pushing the kid too far, but he's too focused on burying every inch of himself in that sweet little hole, shoving selfishly inside until he's balls deep.

He stops then, leaning down to brace his hands on either side of Parser, kissing the bare skin of his back. "Make as much noise as you want for me, baby, I want to hear it."

He doesn't think Parser could help it, not when Holly pulls back and drives into him carelessly, groaning at the tight friction on his dick. The kid yelps, his free hand scrabbling at the couch, the other hand clutched around the plug in a white-knuckled grip. Holly fucks him like it's what his ass is made for, hard thrusts that jar him into the arm of the couch and drive delicious, hurt-sounding noises from his throat.

"God you're so fucking good, your ass is a fucking gift," Holly tells him, biting at the skin he can reach with his mouth. "So fucking tight, and you take it so fucking perfect."

Parser moans, a desperate sound, and he struggles like he's trying to brace himself on his elbows and push back into Holly's thrusts, like he's trying to get him to come faster. Holly reaches up to grab at his hair, turning his face to one side on the cushions so Holly can see the twist of pain knitting his eyebrows together. He slows his next thrust down, dragging his cock out and shoving back in, just so he can watch Parser's whole face scrunch up with it.

"That's it baby, that's it, just fucking take it." Holly speeds up again, his hips smacking into Parser's sore ass, driving his cock into Parser's sore hole, while Parser screws up his face and takes it.

He comes, grinding in deep and hard, his hand still gripping tight in Parser's hair. Parser shifts a little underneath him, his ass clenching around Holly's dick, and Holly groans, pulling out. Parser flinches when his cock leaves him, and flinches again when Holly stuffs his fingers right back in, spreading them open to let come drip out of his hole. He wipes it up with his thumb and pushes it back inside.

"Give me the plug," he says, reaching his hand out for it.

"Holly—" Parser starts to protest, but it shudders off into more noises when Holly pushes his fingers inside and crooks down, rubbing against Parser's prostate. His hips roll, and Holly gives him a quick grope to check that his dick is still hard. It is, and Parser tries to thrust mindlessly into his hand.

"Not yet," Holly says, pulling his hand away. "Do what I told you."

Parser is squirming on his fingers. He reaches blindly back, and Holly takes the plug from him. He pulls at the rim of Parser's hole, letting the come start to drip before he pushes it back in again, casually playing with him until he's scrambling to grip the couch cushions again, his thighs trembling faintly.

Holly pulls his fingers out and replaces them with the plug, wiping them clean on the inside of Parser's thigh.

"Alright," he says, straightening up. "I'm going to give you a choice."

Parser pushes himself up onto his hands, plainly about to reach for his dick. Holly pushes him back down.

"Do I get to come?" Parser asks. It's desperate, not bratty, and Holly smiles to himself.

"Good boy, you're learning." He strokes his hand through Parser's hair. "Here's your choice. You can come now, if you go get your laptop and show me what kind of porn you get off to in your own time. Or, if your too embarrassed to do that, you can wait until I'm ready to fuck you again. The plug stays in either way."

He can't see Parser's face, but he can guess at what's going on in his mind. His ears are turning red again, and his hands curl into loose fists against the couch cushions. He doesn't try to sit up again, or reach for himself, staying right where Holly put him. He's an obedient little thing when he isn't acting out for attention.

"I want to come now," he says into the couch. He almost sounds resigned.

"Then go get your laptop, sweetheart," Holly says, and releases him. "Don't touch on the way there or back."

Parser sits up slowly, onto his elbows first. He keeps his eyes on the couch, like it's too overwhelming for him to look at Holly. That's okay. Holly gave him the option for a reason. One day he'll make Parser look him in the eye and tell him exactly what he wants Holly to do to him, but they're a long way from that point.

He settles down on the couch while Parser disappears into his bedroom. He's going to enjoy the show, but he's probably not going to get hard again until after they get back from the rink. He doesn't think Parser has realized yet that they're going to be going to the trainers with him like this—even on an off day, conditioning is mandatory.

Parser reappears, still only in his shirt, with his laptop under his arm. He sits down on the other end of the couch and sets it on the table like it's a snake.

"Take your shirt off," Holly tells him. He watches Parser's hands shake a little as he pulls it off and judges that maybe he needs to slow it down a little. He reaches over and tugs on Parser's arm, pulling and pushing until he's leaned back against the arm of the couch with Parser in between his legs, back against his chest. He's gone a little soft. Holly drags his hands up Parser's chest and stops at his nipples, pinching and tugging until he's hard again.

"Why do you even want to see?" Parser asks suddenly, like it's bursting out of him. "I mean, porn is porn."

"I want to know what you like," Holly says, kissing at his neck. "Since you seem to have a hard time saying it out loud, I figured this would be the next best thing."

Parser turns red again, turning his face away from Holly. That's fine. Holly bites him, harder than he had before, holding Parser down when he starts to writhe and pull away. He keeps it up until Parser is making that hurt sound again, then releases his skin. It'll bruise, the crescent shape of his teeth on Parser's trapezius. Satisfied, Holly picks the laptop up off the table and settles it in Parser's lap.

"Show me."

Parser lets out a short little breath, like a sigh or a huff. He opens up an incognito browser and his fingers hesitate over the keyboard.

"What do you usually search for?"

"I just," Parser says with a half-shrug, and then starts typing. Holly watches a couple of names fill the search bar. He doesn't recognize them, but the video Parser ends up clicking on is intriguing from the start.

It's one of those professional productions that tries to look amateur, the couple rolling around on the bed making out for a little while before the much larger top rolls the bottom onto his back, holding him in place with a firm hand around his neck. He grabs the knee closest to the camera and pushes it up, letting the camera get a clear view.

"You want me to fuck this?" the top on camera asks, and Holly can feel Parser's breath speed up as the bottom tries to nod, but can't with the grip around his neck.

"Yes," the bottom groans, throwing his head back. "Please."

Holly watches Parser's face, not the screen. He's biting his lip. As the top lets go of the bottom's neck and grabs him around the hips, yanking hard until he's at the edge of the bed with the top standing, his breath hitches in again.

"I already knew you liked it when I threw you around," Holly said. "Is this the only one?"

"They have some, um, other ones." Parser says. The flush is high in his cheeks, and he's mumbling.

"Show me which one you pick when you want to get off fast."

Parser's gaze drops away from the screen for a moment. On camera, the top has his face buried in between the bottom's legs, eating him out while the bottom moans desperately. Parser finally takes a breath and scrolls down, through the related videos. Holly gets a glimpse of something pink before Parser clicks and the video loads.

It's the same couple, but this time the bottom is tied to the bed. His hands are over his head, secured with pink rope. More is looped around his ankles, pulling them up over his head to the headboard, leaving him totally open for the camera. The top sticks his fingers deep into the bottom's mouth, making him gag on them. He fights in the ropes, but he can't pull away or cover himself. Parser bites his lip again, staring fixedly at the screen.

"Have you ever done that before?" Holly asks, rolling one of Parser's nipples in between his fingers.

"No," Parser gasps. His hips jerk. He starts to reach for himself, but Holly grabs his wrists and pins them down. "Holly, fuck, can I—"

"If you want to try it, you should cuddle up to Eddie." Holly slowly let go of his wrists. "Get off for me."

"Are you just going to watch?" Parser asks, his voice cracking on the question.

"Touch yourself. Don't worry about what I'm doing." Holly guides his hand to his cock.

It doesn't take much encouragement. Parser's eyes snap back to the screen at a loud gagging noise. The top is ramming his cock down the bottom's throat. Holly watches Parser swallow, his tongue curling out over his lower lip as he wraps his hand around his dick.

He starts jacking himself quick, just like Holly figured he would. Teenagers. His eyes are glued to the screen, where the top has finished choking the bottom on his cock and is now fingering his ass. The top slides in two fingers from each hand and gapes that hole open for the camera. Parser gasps, his body trembling against Holly's.

Holly grabs his hand away, pinning both his wrists down again. Parser pulls against his grip but doesn't truly fight it, cursing at him with a whine in the back of his voice that tells Holly he doesn't really mean it.

"You like the idea of being helpless," Holly says into his ear. He lets Parser fight against him. "You liked it when Sergei had you held down, when you could fight all you wanted but couldn't get away. Have I got it right?"

"Holly," Parser groans at him, and Holly squeezes his wrists tight enough to make them hurt a little. "Fuck, yes. I did, I liked it."

"You like being told what to do. You liked it when Sergei told you that you couldn't come last night, and you like it when I'm doing it now."

"Holly _please_." Parser bucks his hips. On the screen, the top has four fingers in the bottom's ass, who keeps moaning desperately for more. Holly thinks about the last time he saw Hunts get his whole hand inside someone and imagines it'll look prettier with Parser on the other end of it.

"Tell me and I'll let you come."

"I fucking love it," Parser moans, desperate. "God, it's so fucking hot. Let me, Holly, please, I wanna come so _bad_ —"

Holly releases him and he gets his hand on his cock so fast, his head thrown back on Holly's shoulder, panting and squirming back against him. Holly's dick is only half-hard, but that doesn't mean he's not in full appreciation of the sight in front of him. He puts his mouth against Parser's ear.

"Come all over yourself for me, sweetheart. I want to see."

The muscles in Parser's thighs jump and quiver. He squeezes the head of his dick when he comes, spilling all over his fingers and his abs. He's a mess, sweaty and shaking, his chest heaving, rapidly turning into dead weight against Holly's front.

"Good boy," Holly croons in his ear, stroking a hand up and down his side. "Did just what you were told."

Parser hums something unintelligible, like he's falling asleep. Holly, whose shirt is starting to get damp with Parser's sweat, shoves him upright.

"Don't fall asleep, kid. Go take a shower, we have to be at the rink in a couple hours. You can take a nap before we go."

Parser's mouth drops open, some of the haze clearing from his expression. "But it's an off day!" he protests.

Holly laughs at him. "Off day? We get those during bye week. The trainers are going to want to see you for recovery. A couple hours, in and out, don't even have to stay for optional skate."

"Are you fucking serious? My knees don't even work!"

"I'll take that as a compliment. Shower, rook. Don't forget to keep that plug in."

Parser turns bright red. "You don't mean—"

"The trainers won't notice if you keep ahold of yourself." Holly smirks, sliding close, gripping Parser's face by the jaw so he can hold him in place and kiss him, tongue sliding into his mouth. "You're going to keep that in until I'm ready to fuck you again."

"Oh my god," Parser's voice is faint.

"If it's too much—"

"Oh my god!" Parser says, in a totally different tone, jumping up. He wavers for a moment, feeling the plug shift as he stands. "You just fucking rawed me over the couch and now you're asking if it's too much?"

"You liked it." Holly waves him off. "Shower. Rink. Then we'll see if you've been well-behaved enough to get my dick."

That snaps Parser's mouth shut, his cheeks coloring. He's shuffles off to the bathroom without another word, and Holly hums brightly to himself as he strips off his shirt and goes to find a clean one. He hopes Parser is thinking about what will happen if he's not well-behaved enough.

Parser emerges from the shower not too long after and disappears into his room. Holly gives him only a few minutes before he goes to tap on the door.

"Get your shit, the bus is leaving in five," he says, and hears Parser swearing from inside the room. "Remember the rules."

More swearing. When Parser finally emerges from the bedroom, his cheeks have a permanent flush. He's wearing sweatpants, even though it's still hot in Las Vegas and he's going to fry. He has his snapback turned forward, jammed down over his eyes, but Holly doesn't need to see his face to notice the way he's walking, too tense to be doing anything other than trying not to seem obvious.

"Relax." Holly gives him a long thorough kiss and a dirty grope of his ass, pushing against the base of the plug through his sweatpants and boxers. "It'll probably just be a check-in. Stretching, a little bit of cardio, they'll be satisfied you're not hurt and you can go wait in the room until I'm done. Or hit the ice, I don't care."

"You're really going to make me wear this," Parser mumbles, shifting from foot to foot.

"I'm not making you do anything," Holly tells him with a grin. "You're making your Captain happy, remember?"

Parser turns even redder. He chews on his lip for a minute, but in the end all he says is, "Let's go."

Parser goes straight for the food as soon as he gets to the rink, muttering something about working up an appetite after all. Holly doesn't bother to hover over his shoulder—he's got his A's to look after the kid, and he has to go see a man about his knees.

"The left one is grinding more than the right one," he says, as he hops up on the training table. "Mostly it doesn't hurt, but when I try to break quick to the left I can feel a twinge."

"You can feel a twinge." Sean has both of his eyebrows raised. "A _twinge_."

"It's about a four out of ten, no big deal," Holly says irritably.

Sean takes off his glasses and polishes them, staring absently at Holly's left knee like he's thinking. Sean has been the head trainer with the Aces organization for as long as Holly has been here—three seasons since expansion—and their paths crossed earlier in his career, back when he was in Anaheim. He's only seen the man get more sarcastic and abrasive as he went along, but he's excellent at what he does, so the Aces keep him around.

"Frank, I'm not sure what you want me to say to you," Sean tells him now, putting his glasses back on. "You know what the problem is: you've got no cartilage left in the knees. You know what the solution is: reconstructive surgery. But you don't want to get shut down for the season, so you're just going to keep playing on that grinding piece of shit until you need a metal kneecap, no matter what I say to you."

"That kind of surgery isn't just going to shut down my season," Holly says, trying to keep his voice even. His temper gets the best of him at the worst times. "It's the end of it. The whole thing. And I'm not ready for that. We're going to make a run this year, I just need you to keep me in one piece."

Sean presses his mouth together tightly, his eyebrows scrunched. "If you put too much stress on the ACL because you don't have cartilage support in the knee, you'll tear it. I can't keep you together through a torn ACL. You're playing 2C now, fine. You should probably be on the second power play unit and not killing penalties. More sheltered minutes, less defensive zone draws. Take a maintenance day on back-to-backs."

"A fucking _maintenance_ day, what the fuck is this, basketball—"

"You want me to keep you in one piece for your alleged playoff run? It's _November_ , Frank, that's in fucking _April_. Your knees are only going to take so much punishment. You need load management. Maintenance. Rest. No tight turns on the penalty kill putting stress on ligaments."

Holly keeps his mouth shut. He glares down at his knee, flexing it back and forth. The bones grind against each other as he moves it. His teeth grind together in his mouth.

"I know it's not what you want to hear." Sean isn't bothering to try to make his voice gentle, like he does when he's telling one of the other guys they can't skate on a sprained ankle because it's game twenty-seven, not the second round of the playoffs. With Holly, he's always given it straight. "But Jesus, Frank, you're thirty-seven. You shouldn't even be able to—"

"Alright," Holly interrupts, cutting him off. "I'll do what I can. You can't give me anything for it?"

"A shot isn't going to do much when it's not inflamed," Sean says, shrugging. "It's not going to hurt or help. Placebo. And I'd prefer my placebos didn't come with corticosteroid side effects."

"Fucking doctors," Holly swears at him.

"Not a doctor," Sean reminds him, for probably the thousandth time since they've worked together. "A real doctor would ask what the fuck you were doing walking around. I'm a quack they pay to patch you crazy fuckers back together. Go take a soak and get in the cold tube."

Holly gives him the finger on the way out of the trainer's room, because he can, because it makes him feel better, and because Sean won't take it personally. He passes by the cool-down room and notes that Parser is there, with one of the junior trainers watching as he does touch sprints.

"Movement looks good," she says, and Parser slows to a halt. He's sweaty again, his cheeks flushed more from exertion than from the embarrassment of before, but he still has a little hesitancy in his stride when he's not running full out. "Your time is a little slow compared to your personal best, but you did play an overtime last night."

"What are you torturing me with next?" Parser asks, grinning at her. She laughs.

Parser is good with people, Holly thinks as he continues on to the recovery room. There's a hot tub and a cryotherapy tube there. As much as Holly hates the cold tube and balked at the damn thing when they first brought it into the facilities last year, he has to admit it helps.

Parser being good with people gives Holly something to think about as he's soaking in the tub, letting the jets hit the tight muscles of his lower back. He's got a camera-ready face, and the team is already marketing him like they're going to slap the C on him at their soonest opportunity. And with Holly's contract running out at the end of the season and all signs pointing to this being his last hurrah, he can guess when that's going to be.

What happens after Holly wins his fucking Cup isn't his concern, but he turns over the possibility of blowback in his mind. The Aces haven't kept many of the rookies they've developed internally over the past three seasons. Tanner, but he'd spent a lot of time in the A before he finally got his shot with the Aces, and they didn't go as hard on him as some of the others. Their first-round pick the next season is still down in Reno, looking less like the bust he had during his rookie year every day—Holly _knows_ the reason the kid was a bust was because fucking Blazer made him into a personal chewtoy. The call-ups after that had somehow gotten the word to stay the fuck away from him, and Billy is so gunshy around the guy he might as well be jumping at shadows. The rest seem permanently consigned to the A within the Aces organization, replaced by trades or free agency signings this season, or have been traded out of the system.

Blazer has the potential to be a big problem with Parser, Holly thinks, not for the first time. Parser is smarter than a lot of the other kids Holly has seen, especially for a kid that got ground through the Juniors system. Usually it's the college boys that catch on that quick, able to read a room and make themselves into what the room wants them to be. Parser is going to be able to recognize that Blazer is a different kind of asshole.

Not that they're not all their own kind of asshole, but even with the way they are, most of the team will get squeamish enough to back off when someone is fighting them for real, telling them no for real. Most of the rest of the guys will try a different tactic if the first one isn't working, coaxing instead of forcing what they want. Blazer doesn't, hasn't as long as Holly has known him. Damage control is going to have to be instant, which means Holly isn't going to be able to leave the kid alone anywhere near Blazer for the near future.

He hurries his way through the rest of his recovery as much as he can. Parser is more important than any rookie who's ever come through their system before. They can't fuck him up and send him down to Reno like Nikishin or have him acting like a kicked puppy like Billy. They need the way he plays, they need the media face, they need the whole fucking package.

For the first time since Parser's plane landed in the Vegas airport, Holly finds himself wishing the kid wasn't pretty, easy, and gagging for dick.

On an off day like this, the guys come in and out on their own schedule. The room isn't nearly full when Holly gets back to it to find Parser waiting in his stall, jiggling his leg impatiently. Blazer isn't even there, which makes Holly pissed off about getting in his own head. Eddie is, though, and Holly observes for a moment as Parser tries to sneak glances when he thinks Eddie isn't looking.

The Americans are also there, the pair of depth trades that Holly still hasn't been able to feel out. He likes what they add to the ice, and they seem pretty easy in the room, but he knows better than to involve anyone in their little game without knowing for sure. So he doesn't call Parser out for no doubt imagining what Eddie could do to him with ropes, which probably would send him home with Eddie for a thorough education.

It's for the better. Holly wants the kid for himself this afternoon. He has some frustration to work out.

"They're done with you?" he asks. He hasn't bothered putting his clothes back on from the recovery room yet, just drops the towel and starts getting dressed, noting how Parser's eyes flick over to him and then away.

"Yeah, it was just like you said. A little cardio and stretching."

"Fucking rookies," Eddie says loudly from his stall. "Wait until you get to be our age and it's fucking needles and ice every day."

"The fuck you talking about, Eddie, you never shut up about how your fucking sauna is magic on your muscles," Eli shoots back. "Dude is always up my ass to go get naked with him and steam myself like a damn lobster."

"Don't forget the part where you're supposed to smack each other with like, branches and shit," Speedy puts in. "Sounds gay as fuck."

"Hey," Holly says, sharp, cutting through the chatter. "That shit doesn't come in my room, are you fucking clear?"

"I didn't mean it like that." Speedy says immediately, sounding like he's trying to laugh it off.

"There's no other way you can mean it. Not again. Never in this room, around this team."

Holly normally wouldn't bust anyone's balls over it. He sees Eddie looking at him out of the corner of his eye, and from the other end of the room behind Speedy, Leo looks like he's swallowed a frog that's kicking around in his stomach. Holly doesn't give an actual shit what anyone says, but he saw the blank look that settled over Parser's face, and he's got an asset to fucking manage.

"I got it, Holly," Speedy says. He hoists his gear bag up on his shoulder, eyes darting around nervously. "I'll, uh. Sorry."

He makes an escape. Holly sighs. "Eli, will you go tell him I'm not going to murder him in his sleep or something?"

"Yeah, Cap, it's fine. I've got you," Eli says, hustling out after his friend. The Americans are inseparable already, so Parser won't think it's strange that he's sent one after the other.

The room is quiet for a long minute. Leo, who had been untaping his socks after some on-ice work, rolls his head around on his neck. Holly can see Parser look up at the big defenseman before looking back to the floor.

"Calm down," Holly tells him, ruffling his hair. Parser is so tense he jumps a little when Holly touches him. "I told you."

"Stop it," Parser mutters, ducking away from his hand. He glances at Leo again, then at Eddie.

"You make me feel your nervous from here," Leo tells him, dry. He strips his socks off, not even looking at Parser while he talks.

"I'm not nervous," Parser says, but it sounds weak.

"Parser, you fuck men?" Leo asks, blunt. Holly barely contains the twitch that runs through his whole body.

Parser fucking turns _white_.

"Jesus, Leo." Holly pats Parser on the back reassuringly, but the kid looks like he's going to faint.

"I know, stupid, ask obvious question. Just want rookie to calm the fuck down. Is fine. I know, because rookie is big flirt. Eddie know, because Eddie is not stupid about rookie being big flirt. You know because you fuck him. Nobody give a fuck."

"What the actual fuck," tumbles out of Parser's mouth. "I am not a big flirt!"

"Huge," Leo says. "I keep thinking, maybe I have to get hat trick for you come sit in my lap like you do Captain. Or maybe you have thing for old men?"

Leo gives him a big wink and a grin. Parser still looks like he's going to pass out.

"You're scaring him," Eddie says, but he's grinning, too.

"I'm not scared!" Parser protests again. He does look like he has a little more life to him, now. "Holy fuck, give me just a minute to get used to being _chirped about this_."

"Just saying," Leo says. He stands up from his stall and starts stripping out of his clothes, still grinning at Parser. It edges a little predatory when Parser's eyes get caught on his abs. "You tell me when you want real good fuck, come see Leo, I give it to you."

Holly restrains himself from arguing that he fucks the rookie plenty well. Leo hasn't been a part of their room's dynamic before, and here he is casually inserting himself. Parser is bright red, now, but at least he doesn't look like he's going to have a fucking stroke anymore.

"Nah, right now it's time for the rookie to go home and take a nap," Holly says, ruffling his hair again. This time, Parser doesn't pull away.

"Yes, nap," Leo says, still leering. "Very sure that's what you're doing." Holly puts his hand in the middle of Parser's back and propels him out of the room before Leo can say anything else.

"Oh my god," Parser says faintly, as they walk back to the car. "What just happened?"

"Leo wants to fuck you is what just happened," Holly says. "You're smart enough to figure that out."

Parser just laughs, on the edge of hysterical, and Holly lets it go. He's squirming again on the drive home, staring out his window with a faraway look.

"Are you imagining it?" Holly asks.

"What?"

"Leo. Are you thinking about it?"

"Holly." Parser bites his lip, shifting around in the seat again. "I just—am I really a huge flirt?"

"It's nothing to be ashamed of," Holly says. "But come on, how else do you think it's going to look when you plaster yourself all over someone like you want to be sitting on their dick in the middle of the bar?"

Parser flushes bright red again. "I didn't think I was being so obvious."

"You're usually drunk, I imagine that helps."

"I don't _want_ to be that obvious," Parser says, edging toward panic. "I don't want—I mean, the team is fine, I didn't really believe you before but I guess you're right and nobody cares but. Other people will care. Lots of people will care."

Holly puts a hand on Parser's knee and squeezes, before he starts slowly running it up and down Parser's thigh. Soothing while he drives. "I can remind you, if you want. When we're out in public and you should calm down a little bit. Or I can just shove you in the direction of someone who wants to take you home and let you get it out of your system, since I'm not always going to want to fuck the energy out of you."

"I don't want," Parser starts to say, and then stops. He takes in a breath and lets it out slowly, like he's trying to think. "I just don't know who's safe."

"I do," Holly tells him, giving his thigh another squeeze. "I'll take care of that part. Don't worry. There are a lot of things you're going to have to worry about your rookie season. The least I can do is make sure getting laid isn't one of them."

Finally, he feels Parser relax under his hands, and he laughs. "You make it sound like you're doing me a favor," he says. "I've literally never had this much sex ever in my life."

"You're about to have more." Holly gives him a quick squeeze through the front of his sweats before putting his hand back on the steering wheel. "I think I'm ready for round two."

"Fuck yes," Parser breathes out, and Holly is very gratified to see that he doesn't reach to touch himself, even as his dick hardens enough to tent out his sweatpants.

He bends Parser over the arm of the couch again when they get into the apartment. Working the plug free, Holly can already see that this will be as far as he can push things today. The rim of Parser's hole is puffy, sensitive enough that Parser's hips hitch away just at the touch of Holly's fingertips.

"Hold still, baby." Holly spits into his hand, rubbing it over his dick, then spits on Parser's hole again. "I'm gonna put another load in this pretty ass, just hold still."

Parser makes a strangled sound when Holly pushes in, his hands immediately clenching down on the couch cushions. "Fuck," he gasps, "that's sore."

"Yeah, I bet," Holly says, letting himself sound smug. "You can take it for me, can't you sweetheart?"

He doesn't wait for an answer. He's been pissed off since his meeting with Sean, and everything else his mind has been chewing over this afternoon just culminated in locker room bullshit. Leo should have fucking asked before he shoved himself into the pecking order. Speedy should have kept his goddamn mouth shut. Holly should have just kept the kid to himself, so he wouldn't have to manage all the bullshit around who wanted his ass.

He can't really blame them, though. He doesn't think he's exaggerating to say it's the best ass he's ever fucked, especially with the way Parser is moving now, his hole spasming around Holly's dick, legs shaking, writhing like he can't decide whether to take it or get away.

"Fuck, yes," Holly pants, pressing Parser down into the couch with a hand in between his shoulderblades. "You're just fucking made for it. One day I'm going to fuck you until you come without even touching yourself, just come on my dick."

"Holly," Parser moans, a cross between pain and want that makes Holly's dick twitch even while he's slamming it into Parser's tight little ass.

Holly looks down to watch himself, the length of his cock vanishing inside, the strings of leftover come clinging to the shaft when he pulls back. He can draw this out, keep it going until Parser is a sobbing mess on the couch, begging him to finish. But he thinks he's already probably pushed the kid too hard today, so instead he gets a firm grip on both of Parser's hips and starts giving it to him hard enough to jolt the couch on the floor.

Parser tries to brace himself and can't, his face shoved against the couch, his mouth open on little _uh uh uh_ sounds while Holly pounds his ass. It's almost too tight to be good, but only almost, and Holly grunts as he thrusts go erratic, rhythm broken when he comes. He keeps going through it, making a squelching mess of Parser's hole before he finally lets his cock slip out.

"Fuck, that's gorgeous," Holly says. He still has Parser's cheeks spread with both hands, watching three loads of come drip out over his balls. "Filled up with come like a good slut's hole should be."

"Holly," Parser says again, sounding a lot more unsure. Holly can't believe he forgot the kid gets in his head about that. He stuffs three fingers into the kid's messy hole and grabs his cock with the other hand, jerking him quick like he watched Parser do to himself that morning.

"Holly, Holly, oh fuck," Parser groans, his tone totally changed, before he bites the couch cushion to smother a high, desperate whine and he shoots all over the side of the couch.

"There we go," Holly says, still jacking him after he comes. Parser starts to struggle again, feebly, his toes slipping against the carpet, as Holly twists his fingers and pushes against his prostate and squeezes at his soft dick.

"Holly please," Parser gasps out, and Holly finally lets him go, giving both cheeks of his ass a hard smack before he gets up.

"Seriously, you look good fucked out like that," Holly says, his eyes roving over the slope of Parser's back, to his ass still sticking up in the air over the arm of the couch, well-used and dripping.

"Mmmmph," Parser says into the couch.

"Shower before dinner," Holly tells him, with another pair of smacks on his ass. "Get used to showers, they'll be half your life in the NHL."

"God, let a guy have some afterglow," Parser whines. "Do you ever snuggle?"

"I'm not really a snuggling kind of guy," Holly tells him. "Come on, don't pass out on the couch. Morning skate and a game tomorrow."

"I know, I know," Parser says, standing up on shaky legs. He stumbles as he tries to take a step, brought up short by his sweatpants around his thighs.

"You can just take them off," Holly says. He waits until Parser looks up at him and smiles, slow and filthy. "It's not like you have to wear clothes around the apartment. I've already got what's on offer."

Parser fiddles with the waistband of his sweatpants. He's back to looking at the floor again, his face flushed red. It doesn't take much to embarrass him, and Holly fucking loves watching him squirm. After a few moments, though, Parser slowly leaves his clothes in a pile on the floor and walks to the bathroom naked. Holly's grin turns wolfish, watching his bare ass flex as he walks. He can get used to this.

"Good boy."


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter switches to Kent POV, which will be for the next couple chapters (I think, we'll see). We will switch back to Holly eventually!

The NHL is a fucking trip.

Kent thinks, maybe, he was a little too caught up in everything that happened around the draft—his mind shies away from specifics, like if he can avoid it, he can put it away and stop looking at it—he didn't get a chance to think about what the NHL might be like. He knows for sure though that if he had, he wouldn't have thought it was like this.

The parts he would have thought about, like playing against guys he'd looked up to for half his life or cashing checks bigger than anything he'd ever seen in his life, do still give him a little bit of a moment when they happen. That first payday, when he'd checked his bank account and seen how many zeroes were there, he remembers staring at it for probably an hour before he wired enough of it to his mom that she called him stammering. The first time he got run over by fucking Mashkov on the ice was a feeling that'll probably stay with him for a long time, a wake-up moment in that first month of play when he realized that, oh shit, these guys are way bigger.

It's the things he didn't even think to anticipate, though, that are starting to turn him around a little. For one thing, he didn't think he'd be having nearly this much sex.

Truthfully he hadn't thought much about sex after the draft. It wasn't like his sex drive vanished, exactly, but it felt depressed. Kent figured that said something about the state of his mind overall, but that wasn't something he had any time to deal with, so he just didn't.

Then Holly came along. Kent still doesn't know whether Holly meant to drive him crazy in training camp, or if all that touching is just the way he encourages people. He can't really call Holly a touchy-feely kind of guy, not with how clear he is that he doesn't do romance or feelings or any of that bullshit, but Kent remembers those early days of Holly's hand on his shoulder, on the small of his back, Holly leaning close to explain something so his breath was on Kent's ear.

Holly's just a nice guy, though, and Kent doesn't really care if he was flirting on purpose or flirting on accident, given what came out of it. Like all the sex.

"Fucking—Parser, your ass," Holly groans, grinding his dick in deep. Kent pants for breath, gripping the legs of the barstool white-knuckled. Holly has him bent over it, up on his tiptoes, and Kent can't get much leverage to push back into his thrusts. He just has to take it. He can't even get the breath to respond to any of the dirty things Holly is saying. It's like Holly is fucking the wind right out of him.

Kent can add that to the long list of things Holly has showed him he actually fucking loves. He thought he'd been having a lot of sex before, but now that he's taken to walking around the apartment naked, Holly's favorite thing is to bend him over whatever convenient horizontal surface is nearby and rail him until he can't breathe. Which is fucking amazing, actually, and Kent is okay with that stopping basically never.

Holly grips his shoulders tight, yanking Kent's body back into the force of his thrusts. He grunts, pounding so hard Kent feels the edges of the stool digging into his hip bones. He feels sore, too, hissing through his teeth. Holly is impatient enough not to bother with much lube most of the time. Now that Kent's gotten more used to that, it doesn't sting and burn nearly as much when Holly fucks him, only when he goes hard like this. When he's about to come.

"Fuck!" Holly shouts as he comes, fingers grinding against Kent's collarbone. That'll bruise, Kent thinks, his lips trying to twitch into a smile. When Holly pulls out of him, he feels empty and aching, his hard cock still swinging between his legs.

"Can I—?" Kent asks, slowly uncurling his fingers from the barstool. He gasps and scrambles to get his grip back when Holly stuffs his fingers in Kent's slick, used hole.

"If you can come like this," Holly says. He twists and curls his fingers, rubbing hard against Kent's prostate. Kent tries to contain the noise he makes, still embarrassed of how whiny he sounds in bed.

"Please," he grunts, trying to form words. Holly wants him to be able to do this, come untouched, but Kent hasn't been able to yet. He _wants_ it, but every time he tries it's like there's a cliff edge he can't quite tip over.

Kent gives up on trying to hold back the noises. He's writhing so hard the barstool is jumping on its legs. Holly's other hand presses down on his back, squeezing the air out of him and keeping him stable again. He nudges another finger against Kent's hole and Kent clenches his teeth, the sore stretch almost unbearable.

"Holly, Holly," he says, whimpers behind his words. "Holly _please_."

"You can do it, kid," Holly tells him. Kent can't tell how many fingers are in his ass but it's a lot, a burning stretch that pierces through the pleasure from his prostate.

"I _can't_ ," Kent whines through his gritted teeth, and then groans in despair when Holly pulls his fingers out. He slaps Kent's ass, hard, enough to make him jolt again, but with his hole clenching uselessly on nothing and nobody's hand on his dick, Kent can't do it.

"You'll get there," Holly says, with a lighter tap on his ass this time. Kent makes a frustrated sound in the back of his throat when he feels the cold metal of the plug against his hole. "We can try again later."

Kent has to stay bent over the barstool for another couple minutes, calming down his shuddering breaths and trying to get the desperate throbbing in his dick to calm down. Holly isn't going to let him come if he can't do it the way Holly wants, he knows that.

Sometimes, he wonders what Holly would do if Kent just went in his room and jerked off. Probably nothing, but Kent's insides curdle picturing the disappointed face Holly would have afterward. He doesn't push Kent on things he knows Kent can't do, which must mean he knows Kent can do this.

It's like with Tanner. Kent almost freaked the first time Tanner shoved his cock all the way down his throat, but Holly had been there, telling him he could do it. And he did it, and now he's fucking great at it. Leo can attest to that, and is definitely the guy Kent likes blowing the most, just because he seems so into it every time.

That's the other thing—Kent thought, when he'd let himself think about it, that the NHL would be a nightmare of being closeted literally all the time. It still bothers him a little that he can't be open with the management, with the public, but he's not really keen on signing up for that spotlight, either. Ever since that day in the locker room when Leo had just casually asked if Kent fucks dudes, like it was no big deal, like he couldn't be assed to give a single shit who Kent fucked as long as he was getting some of it too, it was like something clicked. Everything Holly had been assuring him, that the team is safe and nobody cares how much of a horny teenager Kent is, it was all true. Nobody did care.

So he cuddled up to Leo on the next flight and found himself on his knees in the plane bathroom, choking on Leo's dick with his head pressed hard against the bathroom wall. He remembers Leo absolutely going for it, one of his hands pinning Kent's head against the wall like the huge cock down his throat wasn't doing that already, and fucking Kent's face until he drooled all down his front.

He remembers stumbling out of the bathroom with his lips raw, wet and swollen, with his shirt still damp from spit and come, his hair messed up like hell from Leo grabbing it. He remembers eyes on him, remembers licking his lips and smirking, remembers someone's hand smacking his ass as he walked by. Remembers how there was no way every teammate on that plane didn't know he'd just gotten throatfucked by their new top-pair D-man, and remembers feeling like he was on top of the fucking world about it.

It's easier than Kent would have ever thought it would be. Not that it isn't hard—they're still not exactly playing consistent .500 hockey, and if they scrape their way into the playoffs they'll have a long uphill climb from there. There are nights Kent gets held off the scoresheet, or nights he spends time in the box because the refs have it out for him and his mouth already. But he's playing fucking amazing hockey. He's playing up to all the expectations that Coach and the Aces have for him. Tanner and Sergei are great linemates, and if he gets to go back with them to Sergei's hotel room and get spitroasted after a great game, that's just a fucking bonus, right?

Tanner holds him by the back of the neck, keeping Kent steady as the snap of Sergei's hips shoves his mouth down around the shaft of Tanner's cock. Kent presses his tongue against the underside, swallows when he feels like he might gag. Sometimes he chokes anyway, and Tanner holds him down for it, groaning as Kent's throat works around him.

"Fuck, you've gotten so good at that," Tanner says, his thumb stroking over the back of Kent's neck. Kent makes a little noise in the back of his throat, choked off when Sergei slams into him again. "Yeah, and you love it, too. Love having a big dick down your throat. Love having another one up your ass."

Kent closes his eyes and just feels it, the hot slide of Sergei inside him and the stretch of his jaw around Tanner, the way they both hold him and pull him back and forth between them, the way they always tell him how fucking _good_ he is.

Sergei grunts and swears behind him, picking it up to a faster pace. Kent's eyes roll back under their closed lids—Sergei is nailing just right, with hard, fast thrusts that are like stabs of pleasure up his spine. Tanner shoves in deeper, cutting off his breath when Kent tries to gasp for air.

He feels like he leaves his body for a moment, gagging hard on Tanner's dick. Sergei fucks into him again and it's like Kent cracks open, fingers clawing at the blankets. It feels like his dick explodes as he comes, white fireworks behind his eyelids, and then all he can do is go limp while Sergei keeps fucking him.

"Did he just?" Tanner asks.

"Such good rookie, Captain will be so proud," Sergei tells him, panting, his fingers leaving more bruises on Kent's ass. Kent is never without bruises these days, but the ones shaped like fingerprints or Danno's handprints are the ones he likes best.

Tanner pulls out and jerks off on Kent's face, leaving him with come dripping down his chin. He shoves his fingers in Kent's mouth, making him gag on them while Sergei finishes, swearing.

Kent can't even muster up the strength to clean himself up after that. He just falls asleep in Sergei's bed, sticky with come and everything. At least he isn't too sore; Sergei likes it slick and easy. He's going to be hoarse for at least the morning, though.

Sergei wakes him up the next morning, as he frequently does when Kent stays over with him, by sliding his dick back into Kent's fucked-out ass before Kent is even really awake. It makes Kent feel hot all over, that Sergei likes fucking him so much he doesn't even want to wait for it. He doesn't manage to get off untouched that time, but Sergei lets him jerk himself off anyway, because Sergei is nice like that.

"Rookie did good last night," Sergei tells Holly at team breakfast that morning. "Very good."

"Is that so?" Holly asks, a smirk curling over his lips, and Kent feels warm again. When Holly is proud of him, it makes Kent feel like he can do anything.

They're back home in the next couple days. Kent calls his mom to let her know he can't find the time to fly home for Christmas—they have a game on the 24th, and then a shitty back-to-back on the 30th and 31st. New Year's in Vegas; it made sense that they wanted them to play those games for the gate revenue, but that didn't mean Kent wasn't annoyed about it.

"Staying in Vegas for the holiday?" Holly asks him a couple days later. He has that tone of voice he gets sometimes, where he's trying hard to be casual but really wants to hear the answer.

Kent flops on the couch. It puts his head in Holly's lap, and he wants contact if he has to talk about this, since it still irritates him.

"You're stuck with me for Christmas, old man." He stops, thinking of something suddenly. "Unless you need me to like, be scarce because you've got family—"

"Nah," Holly says easily, waving that away. "I always spend the holidays with the team. I just wanted to know if you were going to be in town for the party."

"The Christmas party?" Kent looks up at Holly. "Didn't we already have that last Sunday at Soup's place?"

"That was the one for the family," Holly tells him. "With the WAGs and kids and dogs and all that shit. Soup's wife plans all that, we just have to show up. I meant the team party."

"I didn't know we had a team party."

"Just for the guys. It usually gets a lot rowdier than the family one, if you get my drift."

Kent thinks back on some of the things Holly has said, about messing with the team being safer than any other option. And he knows Danno is married, or whatever, which doesn't stop him from fucking Kent. Maybe Kent should feel guilty about that—if he stops to think about it too long, he does, but he doesn't spend a whole lot of time around the wives. Come to think of it, not a lot of the guys are even attached, and those that are tend to keep their other halves away from the rink. Just the team culture, Kent supposes.

"Well, I'll be in town," Kent says, grinning. "I guess I'll see for myself how wild it'll get."

"You will," Holly says. Holly's grin is slower, like he's got a secret tucked into it. "How would you feel about me calling the shots?"

"Don't you do that anyway?" Kent asks, laughing. He likes it when Holly tells him what they're doing, or who he thinks Kent should go fuck. It makes him feel like Holly is watching out for him, and he thinks it gets Holly hot, too. Like Kent is his to pass around.

"I mean more than I usually do. I mean, more like having Eddie truss you up in pretty ropes like a present and letting the team have at it."

Kent feels like his entire brain grinds to a halt. He stares up at Holly, and he can see that Holly means it. He has that hungry look in his eye that says he's imagining what Kent will look like. Maybe he's even imagining watching the guys go at him. Kent can still count on one hand the number of them he's actually crawled in bed with.

"Everyone?"

"Everyone who wants to," Holly says with a shrug. "I think that Speedy kid is honestly too straight or too hung up about it. I doubt Billy will be interested, or Kiwi, and I don't know where I'd peg Eli but he hasn't been staring at your ass in the room yet, which is a pretty good indicator."

"Jesus, not everyone is staring at my ass in the room," Kent mumbles, turning his head to the side. He doesn't know why he feels weird about it now. He'd been perfectly happy to let everyone know he fucks on the plane, or fucks his lineys, or fucks his captain. 

"Parser," Holly says, his fingers gentle in Kent's hair. "Are you getting in your head about this?"

"No," Kent tells him immediately, then sighs hard. "Yes."

"Don't, kid." Holly's thumb brushes over the sensitive spot right behind Kent's ear. He's so fucking patient, Kent starts to get impatient with himself. "It's Christmas. I wouldn't have suggested it if I didn't think everyone would have fun."

And that's true enough. Wasn't Kent just thinking a few days ago that Holly doesn't push him into things he thinks Kent can't do?

"I thought it could be a nice Christmas present for you, too," Holly says, sounding like he's trying to push through the disappointment of Kent not being into his idea. "I noticed you haven't taken me up on what I said, that Eddie was your guy if you wanted to get tied up."

Kent's face is hot. He hates how easily he turns red. "It's not like," he starts, and trails off. He doesn't know how to explain it. Everyone else, Holly had basically orchestrated the whole thing. With Leo, he'd extended an open invitation that Holly might as well have said was okay to take up. He should trust Holly when he says Eddie would be down, but he doesn't know how to cold approach someone and ask to be tied to a bed. How is someone even supposed to do that?

"Do you still need a little nudge?" Holly asks. Kent isn't looking at him anymore. He can't help how he feels when Holly does this, when he's so nice about Kent getting stuck in his own head about something. He feels like he's being treated like a baby, even though he knows it's only because Holly cares.

But he can't muster up any of his usual indignation at it, this time. He can't stop the whirl of images in his head, a blur of skin on skin and a burning curiosity of what it would feel like, being tied down and helpless while everyone did whatever they wanted to him.

He finally makes himself nod against Holly's thigh. He can't wrench his eyes away from the carpet. He feels like this is something huge and yawning, something he can't walk back from once he does it. It fucking scares him that he wants it. But that's been the way with most of the things he's done with Holly, with the team. And every time, Holly has been there to make sure it wasn't scary.

"Yeah?" Holly asks, his fingers still playing with Kent's hair.

"Yeah," Kent forces out of his dry throat. He does want it. He can feel his dick getting hard imagining it, and he's gotten pretty good at just going with his dick. Usually it knows better than he does what he likes.

"Good." Holly firms his grip on the back of Kent's neck, shifting his hips, and by now it's like muscle memory and instinct—Kent slides down from the couch and scoots between Holly's thighs, mouth open, waiting for Holly to slide his cock into Kent's waiting mouth. "Good boy, Parser. You're so good."

The next day at practice, he tries not to stare when Holly edges across the room to Eddie's stall, bending over to talk to him in a low voice. He can't keep his eyes away, though, so he sees it when Eddie glances over at him and smirks. He ducks his head quick, going back to taping up his socks.

Eddie checks him into the boards during a drill and pins him there. Ostensibly, they're struggling for the puck. In reality, Eddie shoves his mouth up against Kent's ear.

"Merry Christmas, Parser," he says, his lilting accent sending shivers up Kent's spine. "I thought you'd never ask."

He snaps the puck away from Kent's stick and flicks it over to Teddy. Kent feels winded, even though Eddie wasn't even leaning on him that hard, but the freaked-out feeling that plagued him since last night is draining away.

Now he can't stop looking at Eddie, in the room or on the ice. He's a good-looking dude, something Kent has noticed before; blond, square-jawed, and one of the Finns who can actually grow a decent beard. Kent spends his free time in the next few days thinking about how that beard is going to feel on his skin. How Eddie's ropes are going to feel on his skin.

"I haven't told anyone but Eddie yet," Holly says, the day before the party. Kent has been practically flying out of his skin all day, impossible to contain in morning skate and feeling like he'd been plugged straight into a bolt of lightning during warmup. They won the game, too, so when they get back to Holly's place and Kent flings himself into Holly's lap with frantic energy, he can't really blame Holly for thinking he's freaking out.

"I'm not freaking out," he says. "I'm just like, crawling out of my skin. I'm good."

"If you say so," Holly says, and accepts Kent's very enthusiastic blowjob for a while before he pulls Kent up and tosses him down over the couch.

Kent squeezes his eyes shut and hisses through his teeth at the first stretch and burn of Holly's cock in his ass. He knows how to relax for it now, how to take it without feeling sore for the whole rest of the night and most of the next day. He breathes through it, gripping the couch cushions, and soon enough it goes from painful to the intoxicating line between painful and feeling so fucking good Kent can't stand it.

"You know what you've got to do if you want to come," Holly tells him, snapping his hips hard. He's got Kent's chest on the arm of the couch, nothing Kent can rub off on.

He tries to reach for the same feeling he had with Sergei and Tanner, the way all his nerve endings lit up at once. He stuffs his own fingers in his mouth and groans around them; it's not enough, it doesn't overwhelm him the way it had before, doesn't build everything up to that desperate, incandescent burst of orgasm that just forced its way out of him because there was too much stimulation to contain it.

"I need," he gasps out, slamming his fist down on the couch cushion. "Fuck, fuck, I want to come."

"I know, I know," Holly says, almost soothing. "You can do it, Parser. You did it for Sergei, you can do it for me."

He sounds almost like he's jealous, like he wanted to see it the first time Kent finally did what he wanted. It makes something twist up in Kent's chest, a feeling like he's failed somehow. He clenches his teeth against a pathetic sound that wants to crawl up his throat.

"I need _something_ ," he bursts out, frustrated, hearing the whine in his voice but unable to do anything to stop it. "Just, can you—"

He fumbles for Holly's hand, trying to pull it up from the grip on his hip.

"I'm not touching you to get you off." Holly digs his fingers in tighter and Kent groans, frustrated, pulling harder.

"Not that, not that, please."

Holly finally lets Kent grab his wrist, lets Kent lead his hand up to his hair. Kent hears him suck in a breath, and then his fingers go painfully tight in Kent's hair and he shoves Kent's face in the couch cushion, so hard he can barely breathe. His lungs feel tight, burning. It's that same overwhelming feeling as before, where his body wants to struggle but he's getting fucked so hard his limbs won't work, primal fear and breathlessness and brutal pleasure mixing up in an irresistible cocktail.

He shoots all over the arm of the couch, his face smothered in the cushions, trying to drag little scraps of breath into his lungs.

"Parser," Holly groans, and Kent can feel him coming, too, his dick pulsing in Kent's ass. He waits, bent over and struggling to catch his breath, for Holly to get the plug. Whenever he's at the apartment these days he's wearing it, usually, and most of the time out of the apartment, too. Holly doesn't ever make him wear it on a game day, but sometimes he'll plug Kent up before they get on the team plane and take it out again when they land. Kent feels kind of empty without it, and his eyes flutter closed in something like relief when Holly slides it inside him now.

"You're going to do great tomorrow," Holly tells him, groping his bare ass. It makes Parser's skin prickle all over with goosebumps, the casually possessive way Holly touches him. "You're going to have so much fun, and so will the guys. You'll see."

Honestly, with the past week of building anticipation, at this point Kent is looking forward to it.

Looking forward to it doesn't stop him from being nervous, though. He's sure he's just imagining things, because Holly had said he only told Eddie so far, but it feels like most of the team is watching him from the minute they get to Eddie's house.

It's a nice house, but Kent can't really focus on much of it. Eddie gives him a very brief tour, brags about his sauna for exactly as long as Eli and Speedy say he does, and then leaves to go play host to someone else. 

Kent isn't sure what he was expecting, but there is actually a party going on. It's just the team, like Holly said it would be. Everyone is drinking, they have _Die Hard_ playing on the television, and it's getting louder and louder as the minutes wear on.

Like he usually does when they're with the whole team, Kent ends up with the guys closer to his age. He partners up with Billy for beer pong, facing off against Speedy and Eli, and almost forgets about what else is supposed to be coming.

"How are you such a good shot on the ice and you suck so bad at this?" Billy asks him, a little mournful, as Kent misses his third cup in a row.

"Dude, we're up against Frat Dude One and Two," Kent says, jerking his thumb at Eli and Speedy. "Those two went through NCAA, you know they can win this in their sleep!"

"I believe in you, Parser," Kiwi singsongs at him from the sidelines. "Don't leave me to play the fucking Americans on my own."

"I am a fucking American!" Kent protests.

"You went through Junior, you don't count," Kiwi tells him. "They turned you half Canadian."

"Are you saying Canadians suck at beer pong?" Billy sputters. "It's his American half that sucks."

"Fuck all of you," Kent says cheerfully, and tries very hard to ignore the flush that rises to his face when he remembers that actually, this might be the only group of guys he _isn't_ going to fuck tonight.

But he's not too drunk to see Billy dart a glance at him out of the corner of his eye and then look down at the table. It's almost too quick to notice. Kent isn't even sure he noticed.

Which is why, when they lose miserably and Kiwi lets out a violent string of Finnish and takes their place at the end of the table, Kent slings his arm over Billy's shoulders and steers him a little ways away from the table.

"Hey, bud," he starts, and stops. If this was him, what he's about to say would totally make him flip his shit. But he's too drunk not to give into the impulse, and something about the way Billy has been blushing and shy around him since he came to the team makes him feel a little bad that he apparently isn't going to be in on the festivities. "So like, don't freak out when I ask you or anything. I swear to God I'm not trying to bait or some fucked up shit like that, and you know how Holly keeps his room, right? So I'm like, genuinely just asking."

Billy pulls a little away from him at the mention of Holly, giving Kent a sideways and kind of unreadable look. "Okay?"

"Do you want to hook up?" Kent asks, before he can overthink it. "Because I'm like, totally down if you do."

Billy stares at him, his mouth a little open. Kent has the drunk urge to kiss him, but he's not totally stupid, and maybe he's reading it wrong, and he should probably give Billy a chance to really answer him before he just, you know, goes for it.

"Are you—what?"

"I am DTF, my dude. If you want. Just saying, offer's open." Kent shrugs. "I'm not going to be offended if you say no."

Billy looks like he's just been high-sticked, or concussed, or both at the same time. He looks a little wild around the eyes, Kent can't tell whether he's flushing from embarrassment or... something else. Shit, what if he really misread this? Holly had said Billy probably wouldn't be interested, maybe he should have listened— 

"You're being serious," Billy says, like he can't believe it. "You're being serious?"

"Are you like, down on yourself or something?" Kent asks, confused by the reaction. "You're cute, man."

Billy goes tomato red, and Kent stops thinking that he maybe misread this.

"Um, I," Billy says, glancing around the room. "You're really serious."

"Wouldn't offer if I wasn't," Kent says, shrugging. He thinks for a moment about telling Billy what's going down later tonight, but he remembers the way he felt when it was first suggested and thinks maybe it would be too much. "I'm, uh, already committed tonight. But if you want to, like I said."

"Okay," Billy says, still sounding dazed. He looks over at Kent, like he's scrutinizing him, like he can't really believe this isn't a joke or something. "Okay."

"Okay," Kent says. "I'm gonna, uh. Beer."

"Yeah," Billy says, sounding grateful for the escape, and splits.

_Fuck_ , Kent thinks, watching him gravitate back over to the beer pong table. _I think I just fucked up_.

"Parser," a voice says in his ear, and Kent startles. "Hey, just me."

"Eddie." Kent leans back against him, just a little, because he feels a little unsteady on his feet. But he's also been horny all night and the anticipation is eating at him. "We ready to get this show on the road?"

Eddie laughs, low in his ear, and it makes Kent shiver. "Come on, rookie."

He follows Eddie up the stairs. They hadn't gone up there during the brief little tour, but Kent figures it makes sense Eddie would do this in the bedroom. He follows, trying not to think about how many people might notice him going upstairs with Eddie. Would they follow now? Or would they wait for some kind of signal that he's ready?

His heart starts to beat faster when Eddie leads him into the bedroom. He's already got ropes out on the bed, bright red and holly-green. Kent's mouth goes dry. Suddenly, it's all very real.

"You'll want to get your clothes off before I get you into these," Eddie says. He slides his hand under the hem of Kent's shirt and Kent follows the direction, stripping it off. He kicks out of his pants and boxers, too, something to do with his hands to distract him. Eddie touches him, which helps; he puts his hand on the small of Kent's back to nudge him over toward the bed.

"How are we going to do this?" Kent asks him, trying to bluster through the nervousness. Eddie crawls up on the bed with him, fully clothed, and rolls him over onto his back. He doesn't even answer right away. Instead, he gets a firm grip around Kent's jaw and tilts his face up so Eddie can kiss him.

_I was right, his beard does feel good_ , Kent thinks. It scrapes over his lips as Eddie kisses, contrasting with the slick tongue that slides into Kent's mouth. This, he's used to. He can make out with Eddie for hours, especially when Eddie doesn't stop Kent from grinding on his thigh when he starts to get hard.

"You're not nervous," Eddie says, like he's reassuring Kent instead of asking. That's kind of nice, actually. Holly can be so gentle with him. Eddie is just assuming he's as fine as he acts. Kent can totally push his way through the nervous into the good part—he's gotten used to that, and he's always been rewarded for it.

"I'm good," he confirms anyway.

"Which one do you think you'd like better—on your back so you'll be able to look, or on your stomach so you can't see who's fucking you?"

That makes Kent's heart kick back up a few notches, makes his breath stutter in his throat and makes him hesitate in his dirty grind against Eddie. "I, uh."

"It'll be fun either way," Eddie promises him, biting at his neck. His missing incisor makes the canine tooth on that side of his mouth seem sharper, a stinging pain instead of a dull one. It makes Kent gasp. "If you choose the second option, we can come up with a creative way to make sure you still know who got a turn."

Kent doesn't even know which one he wants. His head is spinning through mental images, and it's starting to hit him that once Eddie ties him up, he's going to be completely at their mercy for the rest of the night. Does he want to see the look on everyone's face, when they come in and see him like this? Or does he want to feel like an even bigger slut than he already does, that he'd take a dick when he doesn't even know who it's attached to?

"Choose for me," he says, turning his face into the pillow. He feels a little pathetic, but Eddie only chuckles against his skin.

"Holly told me you liked not having to make a bunch of the decisions," he says, and Kent relaxes. Eddie doesn't think he's freaking out, just that he's into it. That's good. He doesn't want Eddie to think he's freaking out. It's _Christmas_ , this is supposed to be _fun_. He's here to have fun, not be a spoilsport because he can't get out of his own head.

"Yeah," he says, uselessly, and then Eddie is picking his weight up and shoving at his shoulder.

"I'll take lots of pictures so you can see," he promises, and either doesn't notice or ignores how Kent's muscles go tense at the thought. He still rolls over, and lets Eddie tug his arms out from underneath him, stretching them out above his head.

"Here we go," Eddie says, and Kent feels his weight leave the bed. He keeps his face in the pillow, his breath coming in fast pants even though nobody is touching him.

He hears a soft sound, and then feels the touch of rope around his wrist. He rolls his head to that side and cracks his eyes open. Eddie loops the green rope around his wrists a couple times. His big hands are deft and quick, straightening the rope and testing its bite against itself. He slides his fingers under the tie, against Kent's wrist.

"Hey," he says, squeezing Kent's wrist tight for a moment. "Don't try to man up and tough this out, okay? I need honest answers when I ask these questions. Is that too tight?"

"Yeah, it's fine," Kent says, and then yelps when Eddie swats him on the ass.

"You don't listen. I'm not fucking up your hands because you're horny. Is it too tight?"

Kent flushes a hot, bright red, pushing his face back into the pillow. This time, he actually flexes his wrist, rotating it around. "It's really fine."

"Okay," Eddie says, and then Kent feels a tug on the rope. Eddie stretches his arm out, feeding the other end of the rope through a little eye bolt in his headboard.

"Dude, you have a bondage bed," Kent says, feeling a drunk giggle bubble up in his chest.

"I have enough money for it," Eddie shrugs. "Other hand."

He passes the rope over Kent's head, pulling it even more. It lifts Kent's arm up off the bed, pulling it out straight. When he tugs experimentally, there's a little give to it before Eddie tugs back.

"Wait until I'm done if you want to fight a little, you won't be able to get out of it then." He says it like it's normal for Kent to want to fight it a little, like it'll feel better when he can't escape. Kent guesses that's probably the point, so he obeys, offering his other hand. Eddie repeats the same motion, looping the rope around his wrist.

"Some time, you'll have to come over when it's just us," Eddie tells him. The lilt of his accent is so soothing, like the movement of his hands, the slide of the rope on Kent's skin, the prickle of his undivided attention on the back of Kent's neck. "I can't do anything too complicated for our plans, but I'd like to. Your skin takes the rope well."

Kent feels weird about that making him feel good, and then shoves the weird aside. He should be happy Eddie likes the way he looks in ropes. He wants it, after all.

"Complicated?" he asks instead.

"Mm," Eddie says. He strokes his hand down Kent's bare back, stopping just above the swell of his ass. Kent wiggles against the bed, but Eddie doesn't touch any lower, no matter how much Kent wants him to. "On another day I'd spend an hour putting you in ropes. Aces colors would look good on you. All that pale skin."

Kent shivers, his hips grinding down into the bed. Which is of course when Eddie takes him by the hips and pulls him up onto his knees.

"Chest down as much as you can," he says, and Kent lets his weight sink into the mattress, letting Eddie maneuver his limbs how he wants. He can't see what Eddie is doing anymore, but he feels his calf pressed up against the back of his thigh, feels the burn of his muscle as Eddie presses the heel of his foot up until it's next to his hip. "Is that okay to hold?"

Kent remembers the last time he just answered off the cuff and thinks about it, letting his body feel the stretch through the alcohol. "Yeah, that's okay."

"Good," Eddie says, and Kent feels rope on his skin again.

Eddie binds his calves to his thighs, then runs more rope from the ties at his hips up his chest, around his shoulders. The cut of the ropes into his skin feel comfortingly like the seams of his pads, there, a familiar feeling in the middle of all the newness. The ropes cross over his chest, then his back, then over his chest again.

He hears footsteps behind them and jolts. He barely moves in the ropes and his heart ratchets up. He sucks in a startled, quick breath. "Oh."

"I told you," Eddie says, patting his flank. "We're almost done."

"I can see that," Holly says from behind them. Kent shudders, tries to turn his head, and finds that he can't twist to look over his shoulder. "You want him first?"

"He's all yours, Captain. I'm going to go get another drink, spread the word around. I'll be back for my turn after he's had a chance to fidget around a little while."

Kent feels Eddie's hands leave him, feels the bed shift as he gets up, and Kent makes a little noise in the back of his throat. He doesn't really know where the sudden cold feeling sweeping over him came from, only that he doesn't want Eddie to leave.

"Shh," Holly says, settling on the bed behind him. "You'll get all the dick you can handle before long, sweetheart, including Eddie's. Right now you'll just have to settle for mine."

Kent sucks in a breath, trying to will himself to relax. He feels spit wet on his hole and then the head of Holly's dick, prying him open. Kent sinks his teeth into the pillow to muffle the sounds he makes. It's gotten so much easier to take Holly's dick, but something about being tied down like this makes the feeling more present. Normally he would be able to move, writhe, but Eddie's tied him so securely that even if he struggles in the ropes he can't gain an inch.

Kent expects him to set up a hard, fast pace like usual, but Holly seems to want to take his time. He slowly pushes his cock into Kent's ass until their thighs are pushed together, then just as slowly pulls back out, like he's savoring the moment. Or like he's opening Kent up for the rest of the team, making sure he can take it, and that makes Kent moan helplessly into the pillow.

It's when Holly finally finishes, pats him on the ass, and leaves Kent with come dripping out of his hole that he starts to actually freak out. Maybe it's because he was holding it off so long, maybe it's because Eddie just makes Kent feel better when he talks, or maybe the vulnerability of it finally sinks in—whatever the reason, he thrashes against the ropes when Holly leaves, pulling at the ties around his wrists until his arms start to ache. That makes him stop, his heart pounding, remembering what Eddie said about fucking up his hands. Fuck, though, he wants not to feel _alone_ —

"Damn," someone says behind him, followed by a low whistle.

Kent makes a muffled noise into the pillow, but he has trouble getting enough leverage to lift his head. The voice is familiar, but he can't place who it is just from one word. Whoever it is, he climbs into bed behind Kent, fits broad hands around Kent's hips, and spreads his ass open. Kent's whole face goes hot again as he feels a trickle of fluid down the back of his balls.

"Fuck." Kent still can't figure out the voice, and then there's a slick cock shoving into his ass, and someone else is fucking him. Someone Kent can't even recognize.

It feels good, is the part that makes his stomach twist and his chest feel tight. The wet slide of the cock inside him has him getting hard again, where near-panic had made his erection start to die while he was left alone. He pants into the pillow, lets out a little moan when the guy hits him just right inside. He's hard again before long, and struggling against the ropes for an entirely different reason. Somehow Eddie has made it so he can't just collapse onto the bed, spread his legs, and let his dick get shoved into the mattress until he comes.

It doesn't last long enough for Kent to come untouched, either. He hears a grunt, and his teammate—he has to believe this is his teammate, he can't start letting his mind go fucking weird and thinking random people are in Eddie's house—comes inside him before he pulls out. Kent hears the sound of a marker uncapping, smells fumes, and flinches as something tickles over his exposed ribs. Then, without another word, he hears receding footsteps. This time, he tries to count his heartbeats so he won't sink back into that freaked-out place where he felt abandoned. Nobody has fucking abandoned him.

_Get it together, Kent_.

He knows the next one is Danno because he knows how Danno's hand feels crashing down on his bare ass. He yelps, but the wave of prickling pleasure washing over his skin is so familiar Kent feels like he could cry.

"Let's make this nice and red and sensitive for everyone else," Danno says, mouth on his ear, and Kent groans, his hands clenching and his toes curling.

Danno makes good on his word, and Kent does cry before long. He hasn't cried since the first time Danno spanked him in the locker room, but it's like everything else has been so far in the ropes. It's way more intense, and by the time Danno is done making his ass throb and has worked his way down to Kent's thighs, his shoulders are shaking and the pillow is wet.

"That's it, rookie," Danno says, squeezing his sore ass until Kent sobs. "That's so fucking pretty. Love to hear you cry for me."

Kent feels something wet splash onto his ass and realizes Danno must have jerked off on him instead of fucking him, marking his ass with handprints and come alike. It makes him groan helplessly, trying to wiggle his hips. Danno laughs. Kent smells the marker again, feels it against his ribs. Are they—

"What're you doing?" Kent mumbles into the pillow, barely enough breath to speak.

"Autograph," Danno says cheerfully. "I see Ollie was already here."

Kent feels like his whole body flushes bright red. He imagines what it must look like, black marker signatures standing out boldly against his skin. He imagines what he'll look like when he's done, covered in marker and come and bright red handprints, and moans.

Danno laughs at him again and leaves.

It gets kind of blurry after that.

Sometimes, Kent can tell who it is. Leo can never stop talking about himself when he fucks, so Kent doesn't have to guess who's ramming his hips into Kent's sore ass right after Danno leaves. Tanner hasn't ever fucked Kent before, but Kent knows what he sounds like when he comes, so he picks him out of the pack. He knows Sergei's cock almost as well as Holly's, and that's even before Sergei starts talking to him.

The rest, he has trouble with. He feels their hands on him, their cocks in him, and the marker on his skin when they're done. After Leo and before Tanner, there's someone who fucks him excruciatingly slow, with his hand gripping tight around the base of Kent's dick. No matter how much Kent tries to move, he can't, he can't come either. He yells into the pillow and fights the ropes and can't do anything.

Eddie finally comes back when Kent is shaking and trembling, sweaty. His hole feels raw and loose, come trickling out of him and down his thigh. He knows it's Eddie from the way he checks the ropes, deft fingers under the bonds on Kent's wrists.

"You're going to bruise here," Eddie says. He breathes it out like it's the best thing he's said all night, and Kent feels hot.

"Eddie," he groans, trying to circle his hips. "Eddie, please."

"Poor rookie." Eddie doesn't sound like he feels sorry for him at all. "Haven't managed to come yet? Holly says you can do it on your own."

Kent feels fingers on the back of his thigh, trailing through the sticky come on his skin. Eddie pushes some of it back into Kent's hole, and Kent makes a strangled noise. He doesn't think he's ever sounded so desperate.

"Poor needy rookie," Eddie croons at him, in his soft Finnish lilt, and then shoves his dick inside in one go. Kent shouts, breaking off into a wavering moan when Eddie snaps his hips hard. He feels pressure on his chest from the ropes, Eddie's fingers at his back. He's holding the harness he made, Kent realizes, pulling Kent back into his bone-jarring thrusts. The ropes bite into his skin, squeeze around his chest. Eddie's cock is punching into him at the perfect angle, and he's going to come, he's finally going to get to come— 

"Ahhhhh," Eddie sighs out, grinding deep inside him, and Kent tries to thrash again, struggling, squeezing down around Eddie's dick like he can make Eddie keep going if he's just convincing enough. "Looks so good when you fight it. I wish I could go again so quick."

"Eddie," Kent gasps desperately. " _Eddie_."

"He's pretty when he begs," someone else says from the door.

"You want a go?" Eddie pulls out, and Kent nearly sobs again. There's a lump forming in his throat from sheer frustration.

"Have to head out soon," the other guy says, and Kent thinks he's finally picked out the voice.

"Matts?" he asks, voice hoarse.

There's a comforting hand on the nape of his neck, and the bed shifts as another body climbs up behind him. "Merry Christmas, rookie," Matts says.

He pushes in slow. Kent is grateful for it; he's tried to keep count of how many people have already had a turn, but he can't hold it in his head. He only knows he's sore, and he feels fucked out, and he's starting to hope he's almost done.

"Matts," Kent groans, trying uselessly to shove back against his cock. He's going too slow. "Wanna come, please."

"Whenever you want," Matts says, and there's a smirk in his voice like he knows Kent can't get there like this. Kent yanks at the ropes again, but he can't move even a little.

"Matts, please!" Kent feels like his throat is raw, feels pathetic, feels even more pathetic when a sob rises up in his throat. He pushes his face into the pillow again to cover it.

"Please what, rookie?" Matts asks, his voice as sweetly cruel as Eddie's had been. Fucking lineys, rubbing off on each other. "I'm already giving you my dick, what more can you need?"

"I need it harder," Kent whines into the pillow.

"I'm having a nice time right now," Matts tells him, with false sympathy. "Maybe if you ask Eddie nicely he'll give you a hand."

"Eddie," Kent gasps out. He'd thought Eddie had left already, like everyone else when they were done. "Eddie, Eddie, I need—"

"Mm, no, I don't think so," Eddie says, and Kent feels something hot and angry and humiliated flare up inside him, yanking at the ropes hard enough he feels them bite into his wrists.

"Fuck you, you fucking sadist asshole," he bursts out, the crying ruining the force of it. "Fucking let me come."

"If you're going to be a brat, you don't get anything," Eddie says. His hand strokes over Kent's hair, and Kent screams his frustration into the pillow.

Matts doesn't speed up. He doesn't go harder. He fucks Kent at that same, leisurely pace until he comes, leaving Kent bereft and aching and so tangled up inside he wants to scream. Eddie leaves with him, and he's alone again.

He feels sore. Not just his ass, but his shoulders where he's been straining against the ropes, the tops of his hamstrings where he's been holding this stretch, even his abs from sobbing and yelling. His throat is sore, his face aches. His dick hurts. He wants to come and be out of these ropes and go home. The fun part has gotten a lot less fun.

The bed dips again. "Who—"

Kent breaks off into a sudden shout. The cock rams into him mercilessly. A hand clamps down on the back of his neck, shoving his face down until he can't catch his breath. The pace is brutal on his sore hole, and Kent tries to get the breath to tell him to slow down, that it hurts, that he can't take it like this after he's been fucked all night, but his face is being ground into the pillow so hard his teeth bite into his own lips.

It fucking hurts, but Kent breathes through that. He tries his best to push out the other side of it, to find how it feels good, because it always ends up feeling good.

"Fucking hole is fucked loose," comes a grunt from above him, and the moment shatters. It hits him in his chest, like it's shredding the tangled knot of whatever is snarled up inside him. Kent tastes blood in his mouth. He feels used, like someone's toy that's been left out carelessly, worked over and ruined.

"Tighten up." Kent feels a hard smack on his sore ass and jolts, clenching involuntarily. "That's it, slut, do it again."

The angle switches up, and those devastating thrusts are slamming right into his prostate. Kent's heart pounds in his ears—now that he's finally getting what he wants, he doesn't even _want_ it anymore, not if this guy is going to be such a dick about it. _Smack_. Kent's throat feels raw, his teeth grinding together, his ears roaring. _Smack_. Kent's shoulders shake, his hands tremble where they're clenched into fists. _Smack_. He comes, sobbing with the shock and relief of it and then sobbing from the relentless fucking that hasn't stopped, painful aftershocks of too-intense pleasure knifing through his gut. Fuck, he just wants it to be over, wants this to be done. He tries his best to clench his tired, sore hole around the cock still pounding him, until _finally_ he feels it shoved in so deep and hard it hurts, and everything stills.

"Should've taken my turn earlier. Barely worth it."

Kent's stomach curdles in on itself and he swallows hard, keeping still, keeping his eyes shut and his face shoved into the bed. He doesn't want to look.

The marker feels like nothing after that. Kent barely twitches. He thinks maybe he drifts off into sleep, overstimulated and exhausted and still a little drunk. He comes back to himself at the feeling of the ropes around his chest starting to loosen and mumbles something into the pillow.

"You're done," Eddie tells him. He bends down and kisses Kent's bare shoulder, which bizarrely makes Kent's eyes prickle again. It isn't Eddie's fault that it was a little too much for Kent to handle. And, now that his breath is back under control and Eddie is helping him straighten his legs, massaging out the stiffness and cramps, it feels like maybe it wasn't actually too much. That maybe it got intense, kind of, toward the end, but it's fine. Kent is okay now. He'll be okay in the morning. He'll be sore as fuck, but okay.

"That was," Kent starts, and doesn't finish. He doesn't know how to say it so that it won't make Eddie feel bad, not when this was half supposed to be a present for Kent, too.

"You were so good." Eddie lets Kent's left hand drop down to the bed, released from the rope, and finally Kent is able to turn enough that he can look at Eddie's face. He's smiling, almost blindingly, the gap in his tooth making him look almost Kent's age. "You got to come, right?"

"Yeah," Kent says quickly, so he doesn't have to think too much about how it happened. He's still not sure how to work through the weird mix of emotions he'd felt, and he isn't sure he wants to know who that was. Lots of the guys had said shit, the kind of shit you say in bed—Sergei liked calling him a pretty slut more than just about anything else—but none of the rest of them had sounded like they _meant_ it.

"That's good. Enjoy your Christmas present?"

"Yeah," Kent says again, offering Eddie a smile. He chafes his sore wrists. Eddie crawls onto the bed next to him and leans in to kiss him again, long and slow. Kent feels like he's finally starting to relax, letting Eddie shift him around to lean up against the headboard, when he catches a glimpse of black on his skin. It's the spot on his ribs that the last guy signed, the one who'd finally made him come but who Kent doesn't want to know—he doesn't want to _know_. But it's not like he doesn't know what every guy's signature on the team looks like, not after all of media day spent churning out signed hat after signed jersey after signed puck.

It's Blazer's signature.


End file.
